Narcotic
by xErised
Summary: It was a fine, beautiful, sunny day when Albus Potter stumbled on his father and Draco Malfoy in bed together. Complete. HP/DM
1. Veils

* * *

Narcotic

**A/N: Yes, super long chapter. It didn't feel right to split this into two chapters, nor did I want to compromise the quality by deleting scenes.**

**Go on, give it a read. **

**You won't be disappointed.**

* * *

He was doing it _again_.

He was talking in that voice that Harry could never say no to; that silky drawl of sweet strawberry-infused cream the texture of rich, frothy chocolate pouring from those swollen, thoroughly-kissed lips of his.

"Just a _bit_ more, Harry. It's the summer holidays, our children will be home and we'll be seeing _so_ much less of each other…" Draco Malfoy purred temptingly, moist tongue teasing the brunette's neck, tracing the jugular vein _hitting all the spots that you never knew you had- _that was throbbing madly with excitement.

"No, please… Ginny and the kids will be back- _oh_!" Harry's words of categorical refusal withered on his lips when the blond covered the brunette's strong, chiseled jaw-line with feather-light kisses. Long, pale fingers tipped with nails a sheen of light pink travelled up to stroke Harry's wrist and it was then that Harry knew that he was playing a losing game.

The air surrounding the two men was musky and balmy with sultry sex. The blankets were twisted agitatedly around two pairs of tangled legs, and the bed sheets were ripped off of one corner of the bed. Various bed things were thrown all over the bedroom; a bolster was lying forlornly behind the door, pillows were strewn helter-skelter at all sides. Clothes were scattered carelessly on the floor, and ripped shreds _higher than fucking high-_ of underwear were tossed unceremoniously beside the wardrobe.

The thighs of both naked men were dripping _sticky and sweet-_ with long, ribbon-like strands of semen, their backs and the sides of their faces radiated a light coat of clammy sweat. Their lips were the shade of raspberry sorbet, swollen and plump. Both of their bodies bore the marks of rough sex; Harry had ten thin, angry red scratches stretching across the expanse of his broad, bronzed back, and Draco had multiple, vicious love bites sprinkled haphazardly around his shoulders and lower neck.

"Honeydukes. Kids will spend a whole fucking day in there," Draco pointed out, dipping his head to cover Harry's feeble protests with a wet, greedy kiss. Small fireworks were being set off in the pit of Harry's belly as the other man swept his mouth from Harry's lips to the bottom of his earlobe.

"Do I own you?" Draco hissed, his nails curved into talons pressing deeply into Harry's flesh.

"Y-yes!" Harry cried out, biting his lips in a sluttish manner. Draco's touch sent volts of ecstasy shooting through his body like a turbo-charged lift, and Harry enjoyed every _fucking_ filthy, dirty, smutty minute of it.

"Then promise me," the blond started as he propped himself up on his elbows and tucked a finger under Harry's chin, jerking his gaze up roughly. Grey, monopolizing eyes glazed over with the unmistakable triumph of sexual possession connected with lust-drunken green ones. "Promise me that while you're fucking your wife in this very bed the next time, you will think of _me_. Think of my tongue, my cock and my fingers in _you_. Fuck your wife like how I would fuck _you_. Hard – insistent – rough – like _this_!" With each breathless word, Draco grinded their hips together sharply, causing Harry to gasp deliriously, a deep swirl of intoxication thundering in his blood.

And when the ex-Slytherin's head bobbed down south, Harry let his senses go into freefall as he dived eagerly into the world that consisted of nothing but Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Harry Potter first noticed Draco appearing in the media an awful lot during the highly-publicized separation from his wife. The Wizarding Wireless Network was always in the midst of mentioning the affair whenever Harry switched it on. The messy, scandalous issue eclipsed all other news; and for a period of time, the front page featured nothing but pictures and articles about the Malfoy Divorce.

Photographs of a teary Astoria storming out of Malfoy Manor were plastered all over various newspapers and magazines. Draco and Scorpius Malfoy, wearing identical neutral expressions of aloofness and detachedness, stood impassively in front of the heavy, wooden doors of the manor. Draco's lips were compressed into a thin, unyielding line, and his arm was wound protectively around his young son, who alternated between hanging his head despondently and sharing Draco's flinty stare.

When Harry had seen that photograph, he had lifted the grainy, black and white paper to his nose, trying to see if there was any emotion written at all over Draco's blurry face. He failed to find any.

_Cold unfeeling bastard,_ Harry had snorted as he swiftly turned the page.

Rumors were flying frivolously over exactly _why_ the marriage broke down.

_"He's always been way too good-looking for her-"_

_"The son wasn't his, I heard-"_

_"Cheated on him?! Merlin, if I was married to **that**, no **sodding** way in Merlin's balls I'll cheat! Bloody rich, hot-"_

_"Money, I think-"_

_"He's gay, I heard from my cousin's friend's sister's grandmother-"_

Other media, such as Witch Weekly were exhilarated with the news that Draco Malfoy was available yet again. Draco's pictures were splashed obsessively all over the covers of female magazines, the headlines screaming "MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR!" in bright pink, sparkly, glittery words.

Moreover, Draco Malfoy was a rising star in the hospitality field, doing exactly what; Harry didn't really bother to find out. He had enough on his plate already, with his three tireless kids filling up his life, sapping up his remaining energy and his precious, dutiful wife, who kept his meals hot and ready whenever he returned late from work and expected sex on the 2nd and 28th days of every month.

Of course, all of that changed on that fateful day when the Potter family visited the Weasley-Granger household. As Hermione was working in the finance field, they always had a lot of magazines and periodicals relating to the business world lying around. While Harry and Ron were lazing in the living room discussing Quidditch teams, Harry's eyes fell on a copy of publication, half-buried under a mountain of newspapers, which featured Draco Malfoy on the front cover.

Sighing to himself, Harry had flippantly retrieved the offending article and threw a lethargic glimpse at it. He expected to feel a sense of loathing, a modicum of disgust at how famous and popular his school-mate seemed to be getting. All because of a _sodding_ divorce.

He did not expect, however, his spine to suddenly shoot up and every nerve ending vibrate like unguided missiles before take-off. He did not expect his heart to suddenly beat a thousand times faster, and he certainly did not expect a sharp stab of anticipation that hurtled straight to his cock.

"Harry, mate, are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost!" Ron had croaked out.

Quickly regaining his composure, Harry cleared his esophagus which felt like it had a ball of lust, desire and envy lodged permanently there. Waving the magazine quickly back and forth so that Ron hopefully didn't see the tall, intimidating figure of Draco, Harry asked whether he could take it back home.

Ron had wrinkled his nose in curiosity and squinted at the blushing brunette. "It's business, Harry. What're you so interested in that for?"

Harry blinked, the windmills of his mind whirring madly with any plausible excuse. Glancing at the cover, his eyes suddenly shot as fast as quicksilver to a single word.

"I'm interested in… fisheries! Yeah, fisheries!" Harry had babbled in what hoped to be a believable voice, because he himself didn't bloody believe a blinking word of what he was saying.

_Fisheries?!_

Ron was staring at Harry like he had grown another head now. Harry held his breath, afraid to exhale.

"Aw, sure, go on," Ron said dismissively, waving a hand.

The minute the dinner had ended and when both Ginny and he had dragged their bawling kids back home, Harry had gone straight to the bathroom, drew a warm bubble bath, stripped off his clothes, plopped down into the welcoming, frothy water, took a deep breath and lifted his eyes hesitantly to the prominent figure of Draco Malfoy.

The brunette felt his tense expression melt into a dreamy smile and his veins hum with a sort of heady buzz. His eyes gazed in dark-eyed rapture at the daunting stature of the blond. He was dressed in a professional business suit; a pure-white, collared shirt tucked underneath an expensive, designer, black jacket with customized, glittering cuff-links that bore his initials. A simple, skinny black tie was fastened neatly around his neck. His legs were encased _he wore the clothes, the clothes didn't wear him-_ in a pair of black, tailored pants that seemed the material of gossamer silk. His shoes were polished and glistened so sharply under the lights until it almost blinded Harry.

Draco had an air redolent of success, fame and proficiency surrounding him. Harry let his breath out in a hiss as he stared, transfixed, at a silver earring in a shape of a dragon pierced into Draco's right earlobe. The dragon was glaring heatedly at the camera and its small, skeletal wings were _liquid mercury-_ wrought metal and lifted high up aggressively. The serpent had stormy eyes the shade of rubies that drilled darkly into Harry's own unbelieving ones. The earring was an extremely sexy touch, giving Draco an aura of _bad boy_ personality that Harry enjoyed _very _much. One pale hand was placed in the pocket of his trousers, and the other hand was resting casually on the knot of his tie. A single, twinkling ring was fixed on the ring finger on Draco's right hand. Harry squinted at it further before he realized it was the Malfoy ring. The affluent piece of jewelery was ornately decorated, with a capital, cursive M etched into it, the ends of the letter twisting and turning all the way to the back of the ring.

Harry knew his thoughts were scrambling out of control now as he mentally undressed the other man, imagining how Draco's milky white body and that sweet cock- _Merlin, Harry, what the fuck's wrong with you-_ would look under those well-fitting clothes. Shaking his head vigorously, he sank his top two teeth into his bottom lip and almost didn't dare to let his hazy, smoky eyes ascend upwards to Draco's _save the best for the last-_ face.

_FUCK._

Harry felt his green eyes dilate in pure, unadulterated, voracious lust as he traitorously eye-fucked Draco's face. Draco's fair-skinned face was calm and noble like the head of a proud, Roman figurine cast in ivory marble. His features were clearly defined; those clear, almond-shaped eyes bloodthirsty with power, that pair of full, sneering cherry lips that rendered Harry breathless. A corner of his mouth was quirked up in a parody of a glacial smile, revealing twin rows of sparkling teeth. A shaped eyebrow was arched up imperiously, and Draco's full-lashed eyelids were dipped downwards seductively. His head was tilted to the side, revealing an attractive creamy neck _for you to bite, Harry, fuck-_ that suited his pale skin. The shade of his skin was almost translucent, and Harry saw, under his drug-laced gawking, the hint of a strong collarbone hiding coquettishly under Draco's shirt.

A surge of hysteria burned in Harry as he riffled through the magazine for the article_ more pictures nownowNOW_ that featured the blond. He was so agitated that he almost dropped the darned magazine in the bath. Finally, he found it; a three-page spread on Draco and his son which consisted of a huge photograph spanning the pages.

Almost drooling with longing, Harry hooked his eyes onto Draco, who was dressed in a simple red collared shirt folded meticulously up to his bony elbows and a pair of dark-blue jeans. His platinum hair wasn't styled, and tendrils of it hung very femininely and loosely around his face. He was still wearing the dragon earring, but the animal wasn't its fiery, blazing self in the first photo. It was curled up defensively in a ball; its long, leathery tail dangling peacefully from Draco's earlobe. The blond was lying on the floor on his stomach, engaged in a game of Wizard's Chess with Scorpius. Harry only threw a cursory glance at the younger Malfoy however; he was too distracted by Draco. His rapacious green eyes zoomed in on the shapely curve of Draco's arse clad in those tight, fetching jeans and the slight strain of muscle _I wonder what sort of muscles you'll be straining when he's on top of you-_ in his right arm when the blond leant over to move a chess piece on the board.

Draco's completely open face was captured on the camera; his eyes were no longer competitive chips of chilly grey ice, but was alight with genuine laughter and joy as he chuckled at his son. His pink, rosebud lips were parted in a rare, unexpected grin and his lean, svelte fingers were splayed attractively on the floor.

Harry groggily and reluctantly tore his eyes from the picture and tried to read some of the text of the interview, but his head was spinning too intensely with the two photos of Draco which were hammered like needles into Harry's brain.

He could only catch a few words and phrases before another pang of vehemence jolted to his cock again. A strangled cry tearing from his throat, Harry had dropped the magazine down to wet marble tiles and felt his head fall back onto the hard porcelain surface of the bathtub with a dull, painful thunk. But he could care less, his legs were spread apart like some whore, both ankles fixed onto respective sides of the tub. Wrapping both hands around his rock-hard, throbbing cock, he began to jerk himself off. His shoulders and thighs were rumbling with readiness as he worked himself to offensive fantasies of Draco Malfoy. His breath was coming out in excited, short spurts now, and his tongue was hanging limply between his lips. _Faster, Draco, faster until I-_

"HARRY!"

A loud curse and a terrified yelp spilt forth from Harry as his body gave a disappointed spasm at being interrupted. Lukewarm water sloshed violently from the tub while Harry felt his fuzzy eyesight sharpen acutely at his surroundings and the rest of his senses click back into the present.

"Harry! Are you alright?! You've been in there for a long time!" Ginny called through the door.

Coughing, Harry replied that he was fine while he lifted up shaky fingers as wrinkled as prunes, stained with pre-come and pushed them through his unruly fringe. He listened carefully, ears cocked, as Ginny's footsteps led her away from the bathroom.

_Bloody hell._ Harry felt like he had awoke from a deep, soporific slumber. That tight, scraping feeling of self-loathing and disgust had finally caught up to him and he dunked his head into the water. He stayed like that for a long time, trying to cleanse his mind and body of those subversive images that flashed through his mind's eye like a sick slide-show. He was mad, Harry concluded. He had a stable family with a lovely wife and three beautiful children, what was he _doing_, fantasizing about another… _man_! And Draco _Malfoy_, out of all people! He promptly began to give himself a good, old-fashioned talking-to.

Shaking his head from side to side as though trying to rid himself of the mucky, lingering images of Draco, he hauled himself up from the bathtub, dried his body and yanked his clothes on quickly. His eyes suddenly landed on the magazine, where the Draco on the front cover still tempted him with those eyes that seemed to stab _you know you want me, Potter-_ his conscience. Swallowing quickly, he picked it up with trembling hands and let himself look at it one last time, expecting himself to be immune from the blond's charms.

Sadly, he felt his cock judder awake like a giant, yawning animal.

Swearing under his breath, he ripped the cover venomously to pieces and ruthlessly dumped it into the nearest trash can the second he stepped out of the bathroom.

* * *

He was in deep shit; a mire of quicksand that he couldn't claw himself out of no matter how fucking hard he tried.

Draco _fucking_ Malfoy was like an infected needle lodged underneath his skin, pumping lewd delusions bit by bit into his mind. He couldn't tear him out, he couldn't scratch him out. Harry didn't need the fucking magazine; every single feature of the blond had been ingrained as vivid and clear as water into the very deepest depths of his brain. Especially those eyes; those grey eyes with tiny flecks of black ice in them, those _eyes_ which were like a pair of hypnotizing snakes that burnt remorselessly in Harry's mind with an eviscerating stare.

Harry gazed unseeingly at the shifting silhouettes and patterns that the moonlight cast on the ceiling above Harry and Ginny's bed. Slowly, as if in a trance, he slipped off his pyjama bottoms off and slid a finger across the length of his cock. His other hand gently clasped slumbering Ginny's wrist, stroking the soft, freckled flesh there.

Nothing.

Harry blinked in bewilderment. Inhaling a deep breath, he screwed his eyes tight and visions of a formidable Draco Malfoy dominated his thoughts. Within seconds, his mind had transplanted the Draco from the article on top of Harry's body. _Thrusting, gasping, sliding, licking, **fucking**-_

Whatever snippets that Harry had caught in that interview rushed back to him like a crashing tidal wave.

Harry felt like he was in a Muggle car speeding down a steep cliff. He could stop, he could pull the brakes, but _no_, he didn't want to, it was so thrilling, so _fucking_ naughty and delicious to zoom down the mountain **Draco Malfoy, cut-throat, power-crazed entrepreneur- **at breakneck speed, and Ginny was beside him, and here he was, shamelessly masturbating to a _man_ like some sort of two-bit _slut_- Harry felt his last shred of resistance **swallowing up small establishments left and right like a murderous shark- **shatter into nothingness, he was going to reach the end now, he was hovering on the edge of the cliff, no it was not too late **words as sharp and swift as switch-blades- **to slam on the brakes, stop everything now, but all he _needed_, all he ever _hankered_ for was this orgasm **however, another side of him when he's with his son- **that he was sure, so _sure_ would get rid of Draco Malfoy out of his brain once and for all, no, too late he had already **keep your eye on this dangerous man, ladies and gentlemen- **crossed the threshold **one of the few that seem set to revolutionize the hotel business- **into the, into the-

Harry suppressed a silent scream as the most powerful orgasm that he had ever experienced wracked through his body that was pulled so tightly like a stretched, taut rubber band. Regretfully, he felt the wave of orgasm ebb away slowly until Harry was a quivering and trembling mass. Reaching out for his wand to clean up the mess, a dark, chilling thought gradually dawned on him.

Draco Malfoy was not only still present in his mind; but now, the blond had corroded _like Pandora's box_- every cell, every fibre, every nerve of his being.

* * *

It wasn't _technically_ cheating on Ginny, actually. Well, sure, sex with her wasn't as stimulating and fabulous as it used to be, and his wet dreams revolved around Draco, but as long as he kept his cock in his pants everything was just dandy. There were still some articles about Draco that popped up frequently in the Daily Prophet, but they were mostly in the business portion, and Harry tried not to let his eyes wander towards the coaxing pictures of the blond.

He was already obsessed enough.

But little did Harry know that all of that was about to change the minute he saw said blond step into the ice-cream parlor in Diagon Alley that used to be Florean Fortescue's, but it had been refurnished by another man called Mr. Diggles who had blue, kind eyes that crinkled at the sides when he smiled.

Harry had slipped his hands under Albus's arms and hoisted him up to the vast display of ice-creams that the parlor had on sale.

"Pistachio, bubble-gum, and… hmmm…" After dawdling for a while, Albus had paused and looked at his father solemnly, because choosing ice-cream flavors was of monumental importance to twelve-year-olds.

"Which one do you want, Daddy?"

"Vanilla?" Harry had replied, but not before a sneaky thought _because it's the color of your hair-_ snaked surreptitiously through his mind.

"Vanilla it is then!" Albus announced, clapping his hands joyously.

Suddenly, the golden bell on the door tinkled merrily. Harry casually glanced at the entrance-

And almost dropped his son.

Harry swallowed nervously and placed Albus properly on his little feet and quickly tugged his family away from the counter. Hot flushes spread on Harry's chest and back as Draco Malfoy _the man responsible for his wet dreams-_ and his son strode purposely into the small shop and arrived in front of the ice-cream display with a few long strides of their lanky legs. Just being in this respectable proximity with the blond was enough to ramp up his levels of excitement to ardent heights; Harry could feel his cock harden mercilessly.

Harry noticed that Scorpius was quite tall for his age; at least he was tall enough to look at the numerous flavors for sale. Letting his cool, clear grey eyes appraise the wide variety of ice-cream available in a very business-like manner, Scorpius, after a mere few seconds of deliberation, immediately stepped up to Mr. Diggles, looked at the man straight in the eye and recited sternly the flavors of the ice-cream that he wanted with a sense of assuredness that was rather unnerving for a twelve-year-old boy.

Meanwhile, Harry felt that Draco had been carefully studying the Potter family in that infuriatingly casual way. The blond swept his assessing eyes superficially over Ginny, who stood in front of Lily and James; arms slightly stretched over the both of them and staring back at Draco with an unwavering gaze. Harry quickly looked down at the scuffed soles of his trainers and felt so inadequate and _poor _next to the Malfoys, who looked so polished and preened. Scorpius looked at the Potter family; James, who was glaring at Scorpius, Lily, who didn't seem to have any particular expression on her face, and lastly, Albus, who had a questioning look etched on his features. Scorpius formally inclined his head in recognition at Albus; in reply, a small smile crept up on the brunette's lips. Schooling his eyes into haughty grey shards, twisting his lips into a sneer, he directed this derogatory countenance to James.

"Dad!" Albus blinked and urgently tugged at his father's hand. Albus felt his father was acting quite silly, all red and blushing. Inwardly Albus smiled serenely; it was nice to know that his daddy still felt so strongly about his mummy after all these years. Harry snapped out of his reverie, quickly scooped up his son, who beamed happily up at Mr. Diggles before grabbing his ice-cream. Harry felt like Draco's eyes were boring holes into him, as though he _knew_ about Harry's fantasies… Feeling a surge of bravery course through his body, Harry tilted his face up at the taller man and glanced at him, expecting to see nothing but disdain and contempt.

_No, there's no way-_ Harry's eyes widened fractionally when he saw a tempting tongue slide itself smoothly across the bottom of Draco's teeth as swift as lightning. If you hadn't been looking at that exact split second, you wouldn't have noticed it at all, but Harry did, and he felt completely thrown off-course.

Quickly retreating to his family, an extremely disturbed and turned-on Harry ushered all of them to an empty table at the other side of the shop. The brunette took the seat that faced the Malfoys on purpose. Lifting up Albus's ice-cream to his lips, his green eyes eagerly fixed themselves on both blonds. His stomach was churning in excitement and he tried to suppress it, but he _simply_ couldn't.

Scorpius collected his ice-cream and thanked Mr. Diggles primly. The younger boy was about to exit the shop, but his father steered him gently to a small table. Bending down and whispering something to Scorpius's ear, Draco let his eyes flicker rapidly to Harry. Scorpius's inquisitive gaze followed his father's, landing on Harry, who was choking unceremoniously on ice-_sodding_-cream.

The flock of dainty butterflies that had been flitting so gaily around Harry's insides had morphed into large, screeching, flapping seagulls now. The brunette stared disbelievingly as Draco's hot, raspberry-pink tongue descended onto his son's vanilla ice-cream before swiping a large, disintegrating chunk into his mouth, his hawkish eyes never once leaving Harry's quizzical face. Creamy, alluring drops of thick vanilla dripped from his bottom lip, and Harry could feel his erection about to explode in his pants.

The ex-Slytherin gazed at his son, who was rolling his eyes good-naturedly and making a shooing motion with his hands. Draco started to exchange fast, furious words with a vehemently nodding Scorpius. However, Draco remained stock-still, his worried eyes never shifting from his son. Scorpius sighed deeply, got up from his seat and began to forcefully push his father towards the door. Letting a grin as rare as sunshine on a cold, wintry day split his lips, Draco _veneers sliding off like clothes-_ ruffled his son's hair affectionately and pressed a kiss to his pale, unblemished forehead. Scorpius, in response, beamed adoringly up at his father.

Harry was sharply reminded of the second photo in the magazine; how candid, natural and refreshing Draco's face was when he was with his son. Suddenly, the brunette was jolted out of his recollections when the blond of his dreams swept majestically out of the parlor, his expensive cloak billowing grandly behind him. Harry felt his heartbeat slow down sadly to a regular rhythm; the adrenaline rush that Draco had given him for those short, blissful minutes had faded. He let disappointed green eyes wander to Scorpius, who was glaring urgently at Harry and jutting his chin towards the door. His arms were folded petulantly across his chest; his ice-cream lay melting and forgotten in front of him.

_Follow him!_

Harry didn't need any more advice. He immediately stood up, mumbled something about a stomachache and Flourish and Blotts later before stumbling to his feet drunkenly, accidently knocking over a table and flung himself out of the door. Scanning the view in front of him desperately, he saw a white-blond head bobbing through the thronging crowd of people. Picking up his pace, he sprinted _the mating hunt, they call it-_ towards his quarry. The adrenaline was back and rippling addictively into every cell of his body. The rest of the world dissolved in his sight; his only goal was to shorten the distance between himself and the beautiful blond.

Draco abruptly made a sharp turn into Knockturn Alley. Harry followed and promptly careened into a witch whose arms were laden with groceries. Flicking his wand carelessly at the overturned produce, Harry continued his pursuit relentlessly. He was in Knockturn Alley, his body tingling with anticipation as he swiveled his head from side to side, eyes maniacally searching _fuck I've lost him-_ for Draco.

Without warning, a strong, sinewy hand shot out from nowhere and yanked Harry into a dark, ominous corner. Draco Malfoy stood in front of him like some sort of delicious mirage. His grey eyes were like polished crystal, more striking, more forceful than Harry had imagined it could ever be. The dragon on his earlobe was snapping its jaws predatorily, its forked tongue undulating slyly between rows of sharpened, metal teeth. Its crimson, pillaging eyes glowed aggressively in the dim light of the dilapidated, squalid sleazy, _filthy, cheap, fucking **hot**-_ alley.

Abruptly, Harry felt Draco's hand wrap around his wrist and pull it roughly towards the blond's crotch. Harry stifled a surprised, gagging cry when his hand automatically curled itself around Draco's pulsing, fully-clothed and erect cock. In that calculated, premeditated move, Draco had established himself as the domineering alpha _oh yes-_ male of their relationship, and Harry was more than happy to oblige.

Lust-driven green eyes rolled back into his head in rapture as Draco, with his hand still on Harry's wrist, worked Harry's limp fingers up and down his own cock. Harry was a picture of submission, his chin jerked up in pure ecstasy, exposing a tan throat to Draco. Suddenly, Draco stopped, causing a mewl of loss to spill from Harry's lips. He gazed up confusedly at the taller man and bit his lip shyly. _Did I do something wrong?_ Draco leant forward and growled like a hungry, snarling wolf into Harry's ear the name and address of a luxurious, indulgent hotel that Harry recognized and a date and time next week. Harry could only nod numbly before Draco gave a small, triumphant smile and glided victoriously out of the alley.

Harry had slumped down onto the dirty cobblestone tiles, his heart thudding crazily in his rib-cage. He pinched himself _no, it's not a dream-_ and felt that the world had spun round on its axis during those scattered, sweet, stolen seconds.

* * *

His palms were clammy, his throat desert-dry. The week had passed in an arousing blur; other less… titillating events had been pushed right into the very back of his mind. Harry stood in the hotel hallway, a carpet as rich and thick as a field of corn underneath his feet. This hotel was fit for a king, and it made Harry shudder when he thought about how much it cost for Draco to rent a room for the night.

_What night?! There will be no night!_ Harry had made his mind up to step in, tell Draco in a very firm and authoritative voice that he had three children to care for; therefore he had no time for such games. And also, there would be no stripping of any sort of clothing at all, thank you very much. No matter how _naked_ or _disheveled_ Draco could be right now in the room, Harry would resist his charms and-

_When in Merlin's name did he get such a fucking hot, raging hard-on?_

Tugging his shirt over his crotch, Harry took a deep breath to still his nerves _nerves of steel, Harry, nerves of steel!-_ and twisted the gilded handle open.

The room was plunged in complete and total darkness except for a flickering candle that was placed on what looked like a study table. Blinking curiously to himself, Harry stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him.

As he let his eyes adjust to the blackness, the brunette padded over quietly to the only source of light in the suite; the candle. Several official-looking documents were neatly bound together in a non-descript file and a sleek, silver quill with a pure-white feather was hovering agitatedly over the pages, occasionally dipping down onto the papers to inscribe a meticulous, cursive _take my heart, just sign over the dotted line-_ signature. Turning his head from left to right, Harry noticed that there didn't seem to be anyone else in the suite.

_Well, it's not my fault if he doesn't bother to show up,_ he thought, breathing a sigh of relief.

Harry valiantly tried to ignore the way his heart dropped like a boulder at that revelation.

Suddenly, the quill paused in its animations and hung suspended in the air as though it had stopped working. Harry wrinkled his nose doubtfully and reached a hand out to touch the quill-

"Good evening, Potter." _as sudden and pointed as a volley of darts-_

Harry squawked and jumped out of his skin. Swiveling back sharply, Harry's wary green eyes focused unclearly on a lone figure sprawled out on the humongous bed that was behind him. With a casual flick of Draco's wand, the candle flew from the table to another small, elegant table which was created out of nothing but frosted glass. A bucket of ice, with a tall bottle of champagne propped up in it was situated on the same table. A single, empty champagne glass sat placidly beside the bucket.

Harry let his eyes whirl to Draco Malfoy, who was lounging majestically on the giant bed. Luxurious drapes the color of cool cream and blue hung loosely from the canopy of the four-poster. The clean, sterile-white covers were pulled back enticingly, revealing a barefoot Draco dressed completely in black. The flame of the candle danced sensually, casting a glowing aura on the left side of Draco's face. The other half, however, was shrouded mysteriously in darkness. Draco looked at Harry with grey and glittery eyes, skewering the brunette with his gaze. His demeanor betrayed no trace of emotion, and a wrong-footed Harry felt like the blond was inspecting him clinically and detachedly _straight into the lion's den-_ like a crate of goods.

The stem of his half-filled champagne glass was balanced firmly between his middle and fourth fingers, and Draco's wrist was shifting slightly, causing the wine in his glass to tremble and slosh enchantingly. Harry felt his eyes, wide with childish bewilderment dart to the hypnotizing swirl of the burgundy beverage. His fists were clenched until he could feel his nails leave curved crescent-shaped markings on the flesh of his palm.

"Come and sit down, Potter. I'm sure you didn't expect me to invite you over just to gawk at me."

Draco's voice was lush and lyrical in the silent, musty air of the chamber and hurled straight to Harry's cock. Harry felt a catch in his throat as he squeaked back.

"Wha- what, on the bed?! Wi- with you?!"

In response, Draco gave Harry a withering look. Harry pursed his lips and stumbled over in trepidation, kicked off his footwear and sat stiffly on the bed, not allowing any part of his body near _because if they touched, terrible, terrible things would happen-_ Draco. The blond hauled himself up into a sitting position, reached over gracefully and filled up Harry's glass with a sparkling dose of champagne. The seductive _glug-glug_ sound reached Harry's over-sensitized ears and he bit his lip unsteadily. When he took the glass from Draco, he had paid extra attention to the blond's fingers, making sure that he didn't touch them at all.

The atmosphere was turbulent _dessert or disaster- _and awkward. Harry had his knees hugged to his chest protectively while his right hand clutched the wine-glass clumsily.

"Why so tense, Potter? I'm not going to rape you," Draco purred silkily, his aristocratic tongue rolling the r's alluringly. The words _even though I know you want me to-_ hung unsaid in the air. Harry felt as if a quiver full of arrows had been lobbed simultaneously at him. _Bloody hell, not even five minutes into conversation he's already mentioned sex!_ Harry cast around in his foggy mind for his carefully-rehearsed speech, but his command of the basic English language was failing him miserably. His heart galloped wildly like a herd of wild stallions, his cock thrummed with anticipation _trying to act cool when I know I make you delirious-_ when he noticed Draco's eyes licking his body effortlessly and shamelessly.

Hoping to calm his jangling nerves, Harry took a swig of the fuchsia champagne. Suddenly, he felt that his senses were saturated and sharpened; the delicate aroma of Draco _vanilla vanilla vanilla-_ wafted around his nostrils, his taste buds were tingling with the zest of the alcohol, the fact that Draco had scooted nearer to him in bed soared to the top of the muddle in his brain. He felt numb, then excited, then numb, then excited again.

"I heard that you got promoted in your job in the Ministry. Shall we toast to that?"

Draco's voice _as addicting as sex itself-_ slithered bewitchingly to Harry, every rise and fall of inflection in Draco's sentence sucked Harry into a vortex. Harry's cloudy green eyes swiveled to Draco's orbs, which seemed to be a ferocious silver blaze.

"Drop the act, Malfoy. Both of us know what we want. You didn't bring me here to discuss about our _jobs_. Do whatever you want to me now, before I fucking _come_ in my pants," Harry blurted out unwittingly. Immediately, Harry clapped a hand to his mouth. The alcohol seemed to have loosened his _or is it because you want him as much as he wants you-_ tongue and his inhibitions immensely. Harry's eyes were wide and fearful as he dropped the wine-glass suddenly onto the white rug. The drink spilt out, seeping _blood on semen-_ into the carpet, but Harry didn't notice it at all since Draco was like a matador coming in for the kill, touches of pink in his alabaster cheeks and his delicately moulded arms reaching towards the brunette.

Harry bleated weakly and began to back away from the ruthlessly advancing blond. Looking fervently to his right, he started to haul himself out of the web of temptation, but in a smooth, fluid motion, Draco had crossed the distance as easily as a snap of his fingers. His left hand buried itself mercilessly in Harry's hair, tugging at the short strands that were as black as liquorice. Draco was kneeling behind Harry as he jerked Harry's chin up, exposing his throat. Harry's drunken eyes immediately zoomed in on the dragon earring that was hissing predatorily, its thick, leathery tail wagging excitedly from side to side. Its scarlet, glowing eyes were narrowed and spitting with eagerness.

"Like the earring, Potter? Confuses my business competitors during meetings. Makes them… slip up, makes them say things that they wouldn't _normally_ say. Want me to take it off, hmmm?"

"No!" _But please, take off the rest of your clothes- _Memories of the magazine cover came brimming over the surface like a pot of soup coming to boil, and Harry bit back a moan.

"Tell me what you were thinking of before you came in here."

"You!" Harry panted as his blood surged in his veins, his cock throbbing like a pneumatic drill.

"Do I make you come?"

"All the _fucking_ time," Harry's words were emitted in clipped, staccato breaths when Draco began to run a finger up and down his throat, caressing Harry's Adam's apple, ghosting over his jaw-line back and forth. His very touch sent Harry's world exploding like a powerful fireworks display and the ex-Gryffindor thrust his hips up helplessly.

As though pleased with Harry's reaction, Draco relinquished his grip on Harry and began to undress himself. His fingers were like a blur as they scuttled down his buttons. That was all Harry needed; just a few seconds of respite before he began to shake his head.

"No, I can't, I'm married, I'm married!" He wailed, his tremulous voice high-pitched and loud, as though he had to practically convince himself that he was attached. Draco paused and tilted his head imperiously.

"The door is there, Harry. I'm here. Make your choice," the blond whispered _gentleman to the backbone-,_ his tone low and neutral, displaying no vestige of emotion at all. Harry was clinging onto his sanity by the edge of his fingertips, his cock and his head was having a battle of epic proportions. Warnings clanged chaotically in Harry's head; Draco's body set him on fire the way Ginny never had, but yet, he had a duty as a father, as a husband, he _couldn't_ be cheating… But Draco was so sexually scandalous and Harry cried out when his mind dredged up his numerous fantasies of Draco.

_Maybe just one fuck, just one fuck is all I need to get it out of my system, and then I could crawl out of this place and forget about this-_

Any caution that he had, he had thrown it out of the window when Draco locked eyes with Harry, his gaze as hot and black as burning tar.

"I _want_ to have sex with you, Draco Malfoy," Harry murmured, intoxicated, ignoring the alarm bells shrilling in his head. _It's not practical, not logical, why does he want me so much, we haven't communicated at all after Hogwarts- what the **fuck** who cares-_

"Your wish is my command," Draco growled in reply before lunging at Harry like a python poised to kill.

_we've burnt our fingers, now let's jump into the flames-_

**

It was beyond Draco's wildest dreams. They were both fireballs in bed, nothing but bodies spiraling out of control and identical climactic cries and moans of desire and need mingling in the hot, sweaty air. He felt attracted to the brunette like iron fillings to a giant magnet. After the sex, Harry had blushed a bright red, turned over and promptly drifted off to sleep. Draco had stayed awake the whole time, admiring the contours of Harry's body, his bronzed skin soft and flushed, the virile energy in his passionate dark eyes. Draco had memorized every event and gasp that occurred for the past hour, scanning it into his retentive brain like a Muggle computer.

Draco didn't dare to go to sleep lest it was nothing but a cruel dream; instead, he had spent the past two hours touching a slumbering Harry all over. His fingers traced the domes of Harry's toes, sliding them up the sinewy muscles of his legs. He adored the way Harry's bow-shaped lips quirked up when he was dreaming, and he especially loved it whenever Draco's name was moaned and Harry's body would give a violent spasm. Draco treasured every second when the brunette was with him because he didn't know what would happen when he woke up.

_I hope he…_ Draco wistfully started, before catching himself and shaking his head hard. Abruptly, Harry stretched expansively and cracked a bleary eye open. An expression of horror flashed across Harry's face as he immediately sat up, grabbed whatever clothes he could, and fled to the bathroom.

Draco froze while Harry escaped. Slowly, as though he was released from a spell, the blond blinked wearily and pressed the heels of his palms _hard candy with a surprise center-_ into his sunken eyes. Sighing bitterly, he hauled himself up from the bed, his head hanging despondently.

**

The sex was just acceptable- _oh, who are you kidding, Harry._ The sex was _bloody_ brilliant. He had no idea that someone could cause avalanches of this magnitude rocking through his trembling body. Dressed in his shirt and underwear, Harry was brushing his teeth so violently _I can't believe I sucked his cock-_ that he could taste the blood leaking from his gums. He began to wash his face, scrubbing every pore with more force than was necessary, as though he could cleanse himself from Draco's touch.

He thought the blond would be rough and savage during sex, but to his pleasant surprise, Draco had actually been quite… gentle with him.

_"It's alright, Harry… it won't hurt so much after a while, just bear with it…"_

_"Hurts-"_

_"Shhhhh… relax and it'll be fine…"_

_"No, please, please-"_

_"How does it feel now?"_

_"Don't stop, please-"_

_"Harder, Draco, I'm not fucking made up of glass-"_

_"Are you sure-"_

_"Fuck yes!"_

Filthy nuggets of scenes breezed in his mind's eye like a perfect storm on a hot summer's day. Crumpling down to the cool marble tiles, Harry buried his head in his hands. Emotions of all sorts were thundering in his heart and it felt like an invisible hand had grabbed his guts and twisted. Guilt, self-loathing, anger, surprise, and just a tiny sliver of triumph and pride at having been fucked by Draco Malfoy who _wants you so fucking much_ were just a handful of feelings churning uncontrollably in him.

No, this was the first and last time. He would go out with his head held up high, grab his remaining clothes and get the fuck out of here. He'd dress outside in the hallway; staying an extra second here was like staring temptation in the face. He got up, but not before his eyes landed on a humongous bath-tub resplendent with a frothy bath full of enchanted multi-colored bubbles. Crimson petals were scattered artistically over the foam, and Harry couldn't resist walking over to the tub and dipping a hand into the warm, welcoming, water.

Suddenly, he felt a jolt of lust shoot from the very tips of his fingers all the way down to his curling toes. He immediately withdrew his hand and gawked at the bath. This isn't _normal_, hotel rooms didn't have such colossal bath-tubs in them…

Casting his mind back, he had found it weird that all of the guests that got off this floor at the lift were all couples. Coupled with the large bath-tub and the flowers and the massive bed…

_This is a honeymoon suite!_ Comprehension felt like a punch to Harry's gut. Scowling murderously, he had stormed out _how dare he assume-_ of the bathroom, vituperation poisoned on the tip of his tongue when he-

Draco was sitting forlornly in front of the table, elbows planted staunchly on the table as he stared out into the dark night sky. The curtains were open, and a huge pale moon came up over the horizon, casting its path of milky light on Draco. Draco was distractedly flicking his wand in the air, and shimmery, silver powder shot out of its tip, and it seemed as though… Draco was writing Harry's name in thin air…

Harry did a double take before regaining _this is all an act-_ his composure. Biting his lip, the tendons on his neck standing out with tension like rope cords, he crept stealthily towards the rest of his clothes, hoping that the other man wouldn't notice…

_Yes!_ Harry had mentally cheered joyously when he sneaked towards the door and was just about to grasp the handle-

"Leaving so soon? I didn't know you were the type to fuck and run, Potter," Draco drawled flippantly, straightening up swiftly and stalking over to Harry.

"Is it money you want? How much does this _honeymoon_ suite cost? I'll foot half of the cost," Harry snarled back, reaching for his wallet.

"Merlin, Potter, you've really been living under a rock, haven't you? I own this hotel," Draco blinked unbelievingly.

"W-what?!"

"As eloquent as always, I see. Haven't you been reading the news? Or maybe you can't read, hmmm? The world's at my fingertips, Potter. You know what they predict for me? They give me three years before I'll claw my way up to one of the top twenty most powerful men in the _world._ I think they're wrong." _snapping, snarling dragon-_

"Why? You'll take four years?"

"I'll have it done in two years or even less. I'll be living in the lap of luxury, building up my empire from scratch, making my name well-known in as many countries as I possibly can."

"And you are telling me this because…" Harry scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest.

A flitter of annoyance surged in Draco's eyes, but he quickly parried Harry's comment with a suitably acerbic opening gambit. "Going home to play Happy Families again, aren't you? Let's see how you fuck Weasley after tonight, Potter."

"I don't need your pearls of _sodding_ wisdom on my sex life, thank you. At least I've got a _wife_ to fuck. Doesn't your son miss your wife, or is he as cold and heartless as you?" Harry whispered menacingly, taking a step closer to Draco, his fists balled up.

"Don't you dare mention my son with your filthy lips, Potter! Lips that were wrapped so willingly around my cock just now…" Draco teased, moving closer to Harry. As expected, Harry bridled and took the bait.

"Then lay off my family!" a riled up Harry had yelled, placing both hands firmly on Draco's chest and pushing him back. Suddenly, Harry felt a hand wrap around his erection. He blinked _didn't even notice I was hard-_ in shock. Confused emerald eyes melded with triumphant grey orbs.

"Don't you know, Potter? Even when we're fighting, you get so fucking turned on." With that cryptic sentence, Draco's lips descended ruthlessly on Harry's, but the brunette dodged.

"No, I have to go home-"

Draco hissed _like a boy whose toy was snatched-_ angrily before pushing Harry up against the door, grinding their erections together. Harry realized his body had been primed for sex during the argument; his legs were wobbling like liquid jelly, lust and desire pouring uncontrollably in his veins, eyes a mixture of pleading and desperation.

"Just one last kiss. One last kiss, and I'll let you leave scot-free. We'll forget that this ever happened," Draco breathed.

_sealed with a kiss-_

Harry eyed Draco distrustfully and narrowly, before pursing his lips uncertainly and closing his eyes. Swooping down eagerly, Draco covered Harry's mouth fully. Both of their tongues mingled hotly, vying for dominance. As expected, Harry surrendered, parting his lips for Draco's greedy tongue to slide _claiming you as my own-_ between his teeth. Harry hissed in pleasure, his fingers hooking over the belt loops of Draco's pants.

Suddenly, just when Harry was enjoying the contact, Draco pulled away at the worst possible moment. Bowing shallowly to Harry, the blond withdrew, giving Harry free rein to the door.

"Wha- What? You… you didn't like that?" Harry stammered wildly as he felt the final rock of resistance disintegrate into fine dust.

"Oh no, I enjoyed that immensely. But you promised me one last kiss, and that is all that I will take. Good night, Potter," Draco proclaimed _smooth silver liquid-_ grandly before turning away and walking towards the bathroom.

_No, this couldn't be happening, Draco couldn't have given the fight up so easily!_ Harry panicked frantically. He could still feel Draco's skilful hands roaming voraciously on his body. Gritting his teeth, he tackled _too much heat I'm gonna lose control-_ Draco to the ground.

"I was in the bath-tub when I was looking at your picture on a magazine. I jerked off to you. Shut up, Malfoy, shut the _fuck_ up and fuck me hard tonight until I can't _walk_ properly tomorrow," Harry demanded _let your monster out so he can breathe-_ as he felt his body succumb shamelessly under Draco's expert ministrations. Draco felt an electric whizz course through his veins. Smirking victoriously to himself, the blond dragged Harry into the bathroom, the door slamming ominously behind them.

Outside, the candle flickered dolefully beside the bed. A harsh, chilly wind blew into the room through the windows. The flame flared sharply for a split second, before it quavered gloomily. The draught gave a deadly, final puff, and the fire was forlornly _just like Harry and Ginny's marriage-_ extinguished.

That night, Harry had learnt a valuable lesson. When it came to Draco Malfoy, there was no such thing as _one last kiss._

* * *

He was walking the tightrope like the grace and balance of an elephant. He was playing a game of Russian roulette with his family; the way his lies became his truths as he indulged in his other life that was hidden away from prying eyes. Harry learnt to destroy every shred of evidence _incendios on letters-_ that threw suspicion to his illegal liaison _make-up on love bites-_ with Draco Malfoy. He was skating on extremely thin ice, making sure that his features were schooled with real despair when he lied _I'm really sorry, love, but there's this whole mountain of paperwork to go through, I'll only be home tomorrow morning-_ to Ginny. Justifications were made to himself daily _I had sex with Ginny last week, it's Draco's turn this week- Ginny shouldn't have made me so angry_-, and he knew that he could no longer look at himself into the mirror.

He felt like he was Draco's pawn in a chess game, a trussed up fly that was ubiquitous in the blond's carefully-crafted web of thrilling sex, deceit and carnality. Harry thought the passion would fade after a few weeks, or perhaps a month, but all of this walking on eggshells, skeletons lurking in the closet had continued for a _year_, and it was still going strong. His love for Ginny might have waned, but he had never shirked his responsibilities as a parent; he loved his three kids too much. Always the dutiful father, he remembered events such as birthdays; he spent at least one day per week together with his family.

Of course, Harry had tried to break it off whenever he looked at Ginny's hurt eyes _no, sorry dear, I'm not coming back for dinner today-,_ but he couldn't. Yes, he would majestically strut out of Draco's arms, but the blond would always take him back when Harry returned after a torturous week, bawling desperately _touchmefuckmepleaseIcan'tlivewithoutyou-_ for him. Harry was a condemned prisoner, shackled helplessly to Draco. His life no longer revolved plainly around his family and work; he had Draco to pull him out of the humdrum of daily life.

And he loved every minute of it. Draco was his dirty little secret that he had to conceal at all costs. He was taboo, fatal, forbidden; everything that Harry's moral fibre went against. In the past year, Draco had stuck true to his word and was climbing ruthlessly up the ladder of influence, wealth and prestige.

Draco Malfoy was hot property, and every witch wanted him, every wizard wanted to be him. Draco splurged carelessly on Harry all the time, wooing the brunette with expensive _yeah a friend gave me this watch-_ and swanky gifts. And Harry fell for it hook, line and sinker. He needed Draco like how a fish needed water; whenever he wasn't with the other man, a physical ache would twist and tear in him. Every time, when Harry saw an article on Draco in the papers, he couldn't help but let a secret smile spread so wide until he felt like the bottom half of his face might drop off.

_Most eligible bachelor?_

_Yeah._

_And I'm fucking him._

Draco was like an ornately wrapped Christmas present that someone had given to him months early. Every time when he was with Draco, a thin, precious layer of the wrapping would peel off. But Draco was a complicated person; he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. He was an enigma to everyone else except Scorpius. Flashes of affection and sometimes hurt would ripple as fast as lightning across turbulent grey eyes, but Harry never felt like Draco was fully comfortable around him.

Their clandestine trysts were held at Draco's hotels whenever Scorpius was back for the summer holidays. When Scorpius was at Hogwarts, their rendezvous were in Malfoy Manor.

Harry always met these flings with a sort of unholy enthusiasm. One time, Draco had fucked him up against a wall in full public view at night, right beside a Muggle club. The heavy, loud, thumping music was like a voluptuous swell that suffused both their bodies, warming their veins. Draco had fucked him to the rhythm of the music. When Harry was about to come, the beat had suddenly slowed down to the speed of a funeral march. Harry had begged, pleaded _please, I'm going to come, ignore the fucking music, wanna come now-_ Draco. But Draco had remorselessly ignored his yelps, prolonging Harry's orgasm to unbearable heights.

That was hands down the best fuck of Harry's life.

And currently, both halves of Harry's life are entwined dangerously close together, as close as they could possibly be. Draco Malfoy was right now in the Potters' marital bed, fucking the life out of Harry Potter.

* * *

Starburst after starburst exploded behind Harry's eyes as he was jolted back into the present. Draco was pressing moist kisses onto Harry's fingertips and the thin, delicate web of skin between thumb and forefinger. Draco's tongue, which was currently trailing the deep life-lines on Harry's palm, left hot molten bubbles of lava gurgling contentedly on Harry's flushed skin. His touches were sweet as though _caressing the broken fragments of a treasured dream-_ and gentle. Harry sighed happily, threading his fingers through Draco's silky hair.

They were so engrossed in each other that they failed to detect the soft, tell-tale sounds of the door downstairs swing open and three raucous children clatter noisily in.

**

"Shhh, your dad's sleeping his headache off," Ginny Potter cautioned her children as all four of them tugged off their coats and shoes.

"Do you think Daddy will like the new broomstick that you bought for me, Mummy?" Lily whispered, her small hands lovingly stroking the handle of her new Starfire 3000.

"I think he'll love it," Ginny reassured, bending down to straighten her daughter's skirt. The second James had entered the house; he had dumped all his bags unceremoniously on the floor, and fished out a pack of candies. He began to walk towards the kitchen, but his path was blocked by Albus.

"Wanna see the jokes that I got from Uncle George?" the thirteen-year-old boy offered hopefully, holding up his loot temptingly.

"Maybe later," James muttered shortly, neatly side-stepping around Albus.

Lily saw her brother's face fall. It was already bad enough that Honeydukes was closed today; Albus absolutely adored that place. Trotting over to Albus, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Wanna go flying? I want to test my new broomstick."

Albus blinked dejectedly before nodding at his sister.

"Mummy can I show Daddy my new tricks? I promise I'll be quiet, and if he's sleeping I'll go away."

Ginny wrinkled her nose hesitantly and nodded. "Only if he's awake."

Albus beamed brightly and slowly tip-toed up the staircase. Suddenly, he stopped. Why was there… moaning? Oh no, was Daddy in pain? Had he been moaning away ever since the bunch of them went out? Well, this meant that Daddy wasn't sleeping, so he could be as noisy as he liked. Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, he increased his pace towards his parents' bedroom and flung the door open ungraciously.

The sight that greeted him was something that he had never seen before. His father's tan, bronzed thighs were wound athletically round a pair of foreign, pale, muscular buttocks like tentacles of an octopus. Albus stared _no, this isn't right, Daddy's supposed to be alone, who is- Merlin, is that… is that a man?! Was that man hurting his father?!_

He felt the scene blur _no, if he was hurting Daddy then Daddy would be hitting him, this isn't right, isn't right!-_ in front of his eyes and he suddenly realized that he was crying. The jokes that he was holding in his hand didn't seem that funny anymore and he let go. The bundle thumped loudly on the floor, but Albus didn't hear it, he could only hear those hated moans; their groans tearing like barbed wire into his skin.

Both men immediately swiveled around, their horrified eyes landing on Albus, who was crumpled down to the ground, sobbing his little heart out.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me throughout this chapter. I honestly didn't expect it to be so long, especially horny!Harry. /grin **

**Ch 2 will be up in roughly a week, maybe a bit longer since school is getting rather hectic_._ **


	2. Denial

Narcotic

He could almost see the half-baked lies forming on his father's lips; every word that Harry croaked went into his brain like a triangular-shaped object trying to fit into a round hole. Cold fingers of betrayal and pain dug like claws into Albus's brain, his stomach churning like a storm-tossed sea of disbelief and numbness. His family, which had seemed like such a solid and dependable house, had suddenly collapsed, lying in pathetic shards around him.

He looked at the slender, balletic, white-blond man who was beside _taking up the place where my mom's supposed to be-_ Harry. His back was ram-rod straight, his arms locked tight at his sides. His cool, haughty grey eyes drilled deep into Albus and his lips, pressed thin and bloodless, were pursed frostily.

Albus suddenly felt scared, like everything that was correct and righteous had suddenly mutated into something incomprehensible and cryptic. Nothing made sense, why was _he_ sitting there like he _belonged_ in bed with _my _father? Summoning up the last, dying dregs of his energy, Albus stumbled to his feet and fled from the scene, longing desperately to be in his mother's arms.

Harry was swiftly pulling up his jeans now, acid guilt surging in his blood. He ran his trembling fingers through his tousled hair, trying to neaten it and provide some semblance of order _like what you're trying to do now to your fucked up, sloppy life-,_ but to no avail.

"What about… _us_?" _soft and scared like a child-_

Harry snapped his head around to Draco, whose pale cheeks showed the faintest hint of rose. The façade was stapled back on now, that transient crack of weakness had been remorselessly demolished, and now his contemptuous gaze was fixed steadily on Harry's fleeting green eyes. The air was thick, crackling with hostility. Draco's rigid, skeletal hand was clasped tightly onto the bedsheets like how a dying man would cling hopelessly _but you know deep down in your heart that he would neverneverNEVER be with you because it's not right, it's not allowed it's not, it's NOT, Draco you cannot cry now, not now-_ onto a precious, glistening life-line.

Thunder gathered in Harry's heart, and he felt like throwing screwed-up balls of newspaper in Draco's face. _It's because of you, no one but you!_ A cold wave of dread and anger whirled maniacally in his stomach. He glared at Draco's pale limbs, which he once thought were the shade of beautiful and delicate cream that belonged to fresh leeks. Now they were deathly-white and hanging despondently like heavy, burdensome lead as though Draco was a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Harry closed his eyes, stilling the turmoil swirling in his brain. The nights that he had spent with the blond flashed like a catalogue of undiluted treachery in his mind's eye. He could hear Albus's agitated cries downstairs, and his wife-

His _family_.

His scattered thoughts and senses came rushing back like a tidal wave. Harry stood up perfunctorily, took a deep, shaky breath _I have to do what is **right**, not what I want_- and eyed Draco narrowly. Rage welled up, a stumbling block so insurmountable and awful, and unfurled in crests, rising up in Harry's throat. Draco was nothing but a mere smear over the lens, obscuring his view of what was important in his life.

"I love my _family_."

With that, Harry turned sharply on his heel, ignoring the screams of despair echoing from his splintering heart and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him so viciously that the hinges wobbled.

Draco's numb, glassy eyes had hardened into glacial fragments _his defense mechanism-,_ concealing his silent anguish. His body was tense as he waited for his fragile illusion, that foolish fantasy that he had been holding so carefully in his cupped hands for the past year to be shattered, to fall from his grasp finally and conclusively apart. He heard Harry's conciliatory murmurs and Weasley's sibilant, muted hisses reverberating from below, and Draco felt the pure, smoking-white anger of rejection shiver in his very bones.

_you gave him your heart and your body_

_you thought, you hoped, that he would, just maybe, that he would-_

_but hope is evil, hope is blighted, hope is nothing but a dream that finally crumbled-_

He slipped out of bed and wore his clothes in stiff, staccato movements like a surgeon marshalling his scalpels.

Standing with his head held high in the house that he had never belonged to, Draco closed his eyes and vanished with a soft crack in the air, like a shamed snake slithering back into the murky, dark marshes of hell.

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy knew that something was dreadfully wrong the minute his father had stepped into the manor yesterday afternoon. Scorpius knew his father's mannerisms, traits and idiosyncrasies as well as the back of his own hand. He interpreted exactly and correctly what every raise of Draco's eyebrow, every quirk of the lips, every tilt of the head meant. His father's body language was like some sort of hieroglyphics that everyone else could not decipher except for his young son. But _this_, the way Draco's shoulders sagged in weary defeat, the way he shuffled from foot to foot uncertainly, the way that every inch of lazy confidence that his father used to exude so easily had been suddenly and irrevocably erased.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

He had spent the whole day holed up in his study, settling his business as emotionlessly and precisely like how a student would tackle a piece of distasteful homework. Draco's eyes seemed to have disappeared into his sockets in those few short hours, his wild hair and grey pallor shocked Scorpius right down to his very core. His father, once so almighty and fearless, whose world was his oyster, had shriveled into a messed-up heap. Dinner went and passed in a quiet lull. Draco didn't volunteer any information, and Scorpius didn't ask, because he had the sense not to bother his father when he was grieving.

But the most illuminating instance had happened that same night when Draco had slipped into Scorpius's room when the younger boy was getting ready for bed. The older man didn't utter a single word, but only swept over to Scorpius before sinking gratefully into his son's out-stretched arms.

Words were useless, Scorpius thought. Whispering sweet, faithless, banal nothings _it's going to be okay, Dad, he'll come back to you, I know he will-_, the exact thing that his father _wanted_ to hear but probably would not come true was not what Scorpius did. Other families did that, yes, but not the Malfoys.

He would not delude his father, nor would he prolong his pain.

Scorpius inhaled the dying remnants of Draco's familiar vanilla scent while he held his father. He felt Draco's brittle _as flimsy as my heart-_ bones droop forlornly in his embrace as the both of them lounged in the silence that spoke volumes.

Sliding his small arms around Draco's neck and resting his chin on his weary shoulder, Scorpius began to stroke Draco's dragon earring. The dragon's eyes, once so crimson and fierce, had now faded to a light, muted pink, glowing dimly in the dark. Its wings, once so splendid and majestic, were folded up defensively, scrabbling weakly on Draco's earlobe. Its long, serpentine tail wound itself mournfully around Scorpius's finger, its forked end fluttering temperamentally. The animal was whimpering, its soft, grief-stricken sobs causing its cold, metallic body to heave sorrowfully.

Scorpius knew Draco was too proud to cry in front of him.

Scorpius gently tugged his finger away from the dragon's coiled tail and slowly unfastened the piece of jewellery from Draco's ear. Placing it carefully on the bed, he dislodged himself tenderly from his father's grip. Looking straight into his father's eyes, he said in a clear, firm but not harsh voice.

"I'm sorry that he broke your heart, Dad."

In reply, Draco only mustered up a passable imitation _strong on the surface, not all the way down-_ of a smile, cradling his son's face lovingly in his quivering hand and pressed a moist kiss on Scorpius's forehead. Flashing a comforting grin at his father, Scorpius delicately tucked his father in his bed like how one would protect a newborn baby. He pulled the warm, welcoming covers up to Draco's chin and patted his father's shoulder kindly.

And then, Scorpius forced himself to stay awake until Draco's constant, steady, deep breathing could be heard. Shifting himself conscientiously in bed so he would not wake his father, Scorpius slowly laid himself down beside his father, and it wasn't long before he, too, surrendered to the soft, coaxing melodies of sleep.

_In dreams, we enter a world that is entirely our own._

* * *

Three days had passed.

Harry Potter sat quietly at a bench in Muggle London, both of his hands buried comfortingly in his jacket. His legs were flung carelessly apart, his head hung low and his back hunched. A styrofoam cup of cold coffee, half-finished and forgotten, was beside him.

He looked like a man who was carrying the world on his shoulders.

Dusk was rapidly approaching; the sun, which was once a disc of brilliant yellow, was slipping down regretfully in the horizon. Thin, dark grey, ominous scraps of cloud were gathering, pregnant with rain. The trees were whipped into a frenzy, their lush green tops that were once as crisp and fresh as a salad, were crowded together, rustling maniacally. Brown, cracked leaves that used to glitter and gleam in the beaming sunlight swirled chaotically in a circular pattern at the feet of the sea of Muggles that were rushing home after a long day of work. The wind howled mercilessly, and Harry felt the gale like tiny, sharp knives darting onto his cheeks.

_the way he whispered secrets in the wind-_

An abandoned page of a newspaper flew haphazardly from the sidewalk onto the roads. Harry's eyes followed the page idly.

He was surveying the smoking ruins of his life with something akin to cool detachment. He had escaped the whole messy issue of divorce by the skin of his teeth. Albus had told no one except Ginny, so Lily, James and the rest of the Weasley family remained blissfully ignorant of his infidelity.

One evening, he had come home from work, only to see that Ginny had set a blazing fire in the backyard, burning every single set of their bed sheets, pillows and bolsters. Her eyes, which used to radiate with laughter and warmth, were now cold and disdainful, nothing but arctic brown that punctured right into Harry's conscience.

Harry had stared numbly at the flames for a while, before retreating meekly _remembering how he had covered her with kisses and lies-_ back into the house.

That night in bed, Harry had bit his lip tentatively before lifting a hesitant hand to clasp his wife's wrist. Ginny's eyes had widened in horror and disgust, her upper lip curling in repulsion. Immediately snatching her hand away as though Harry had the plague, she threw the brunette one last filthy look and resolutely turned her back on her husband.

But the word 'divorce' had never issued from Ginny's lips, and for that, Harry guessed that he had to thank his lucky stars. He knew that he had to build the foundation of his marriage again right from scratch, painstakingly layering _but I don't want to, I don't want to do that because, because-_ brick after laborious brick. There had to be absolutely no more hair-line cracks in the fortress where temptation _like Draco Malfoy-_ could enter and wreak countless havoc.

No more chances, no more misdemeanors.

Harry was supposed to breathe a huge sigh of relief, get down on his knees and worship Ginny madly like a goddess after narrowly losing everything that he had.

The problem, however, was that he _missed_ Draco.

He longed for the blond's touch on his own hot, flushed skin; he missed the way that Draco would press those comforting kisses all over his arched, wanting body. He pined for the blond in a way that he knew he would _never_ long for Ginny. His voice, as smooth and alluring as the richest, most sensuous chocolate, and Draco's body, that long, delectable body like one slim erogenous zone, and his face, that beautiful, pale, haughty face with features as thin and refined like a prince. He loved how Draco would dress in _that _way that he knew would drive Harry crazy, that particular satin, inky blue shirt that bestowed depths to his dark grey eyes, highlighting the creaminess of his pale skin.

He set Harry on fire.

Draco Malfoy was a phantom that had weaved coyly between his dreams for the past few nights. However hard Harry tried to catch him, he never could, because the minute his fingers touched the blond, Draco would dissolve into nothing but sheer smoke.

Duty and desire, the two fierce emotions battling for supremacy in Harry.

Both men had shared nothing but mindless fucks that were fiery-red, sizzling and steamy-hot. Harry felt that Draco had never let him in his heart, simply because the blond always kept a certain, wary distance and dignity between himself and Harry. It was just sex in the end, wasn't it?

_Wasn't it?_

With that, Harry leant his heavy, throbbing head back on the hard, unforgiving surface of the bench and began to paint pictures of the past, feeling those rose-tinted memories that he kept so dearly in his heart come thundering back, as fresh as a daisy.

* * *

People sought solace in retail therapy when they were feeling down or angry or stressed. Others might choose to go for counseling sessions. The rest would simply bottle their feelings up, waiting for the eventual day when everything will explode in their faces like a volcano.

But Harry was different.

He had fantastic, mind-blowing sex with Draco Malfoy.

The ex-Gryffindor had had an abysmal day at work, and he had come home only to listen to Ginny's chatter about some inane thing that he really couldn't be bothered to remember. Furthermore, a letter came from Hogwarts announcing that James had gotten into a brawl with a handful of Slytherins in his year, and would Mr. and Mrs. Potter please come down to the Headmaster's Office this weekend to discuss about the possible repercussions of their son's actions.

It wasn't the first time that _that _had happened.

And that was why Harry was writhing in desire under Draco, reveling in the feeling of the blond's light, slim body that was pressed unyieldingly against Harry's back. He had demanded for the blond to fuck him until he couldn't think, fuck him until he forgot where he was, fuck him until he could _barely recall his wife's name_.

The brunette's head was thrown back in wild abandon, exposing his frantically swallowing throat, his strong jawbones tilted backwards as Harry screamed the house down with Draco's name. The ends of his nerves were frazzling and quaking rabidly while Draco fucked Harry into two. The neurons in his brain seemed to have short-circuited, reeling violently with lasciviousness. It was as though someone had uncorked a buzzing champagne bottle in him; Harry wasn't thinking straight, the only thing occupying his hazy, drunken brain was Draco_Draco_**Draco**DRACO.

Harry's fists were clenched so tightly that his fingers were red and bulbous with blood, glorious, crazily pumping blood that was pouring with sex and lust and desire and everything in between, sliding effortlessly into every inch of his jarring body. Explosion after explosion burst behind Harry's eyes like a powerful fireworks display, the tendons at the back of his knees were tense and stiff as a board. In his blurry, peripheral vision, he saw Draco's hands grabbing desperate handfuls of the wrinkled and ripped bedsheets, his fingers hooked and shivering with the effort of fucking Harry with such fervor. The blond's breath was coming in hot, short spurts; limp tendrils of his hair was falling messily forward, tickling Harry's cheek, and every muscle in his shaking body was quivering with strain.

_"Harder, harder, harder!"_

_"Harry, please-"_

_"What the fuck, is that the best you can do-"_

_"Harry, I-"_

_"Faster!"_

_"Harry, I lov-"_

_"Shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"_

That night, Harry had come four times in quick succession.

Immediately after the sex, Draco had swiftly dressed and stalked out of the room in a huff. Harry got the feeling that the other man had been trying to tell him something, but he simply couldn't nail down what it was exactly. But it was still weird, the way Draco had stomped out without a backward glance. Every time, after sex, Harry knew that Draco would stay up for at least two hours and do nothing but stare at Harry.

It was getting a bit unnerving, actually. His gaze was like a chink of hot light that seemed to penetrate right to Harry's bones, committing every inch, every curve to memory, trying to know by heart the different shades as _rich as chocolate on his arms, but lighter, as light as fawn on his thighs-_ of his skin, the way Harry breathed _shallow or deep-,_ how sometimes Harry's fingers would curl gently into his palm when he was dreaming _do you think he's thinking about me-._

But tonight was different, it was as though Harry had toed some sort of invisible line, some rule that governed their dysfunctional relationship. When the brunette saw Draco leave the room, he had to suppress a strong urge to run after _what did I do wrong, please, tell me-_ the blond.

Harry had sat up slowly in bed. Rubbing his eyes, he hauled himself up and dressed, before Apparating back home to take a bath to remove the delicious, sultry vanilla scent of Draco that had been firmly and irreversibly etched into his brain as the smell of _sex_.

* * *

It had been roughly seven months into their affair when Harry's birthday had rolled around. He had spent the day with his family and the Weasleys. It was an innocent, joyous event where the typical cake was cut, usual presents were given and the obligatory birthday sex with Ginny was carried out.

But Harry couldn't shake off the niggling thought in his mind that his birthday would have been more_ memorable_ if a certain tall, blond male had been there too.

It was a foolish daydream to have. Draco probably didn't even know about his birthday. Even if he did, why would he bother to do anything?

They were nothing but fuck buddies.

_Weren't they?_

But a mysterious letter from Draco had arrived two weeks after his birthday, instructing Harry to meet him at an abandoned corner of Muggle London in the morning. He didn't need to bring anything special; he just had to tell Ginny that he wouldn't be back for the night. Harry couldn't help but feel a frisson of thrill and arousal _a night with Draco, mmmm_- ripple invitingly through his body when he received the letter.

So that was where Harry was now, freezing his arse off. Rocking up and down on the balls of his feet like a small child, his green eyes, with a smidgeon of impatience, eagerly scanned the place, counting the seconds when Draco would appear. Pursing his lips and looking at his watch again, he suddenly heard a faint, low, purring sound.

Looking up and squinting into the near distance, he saw a Muggle limousine (Ron had once pointed agitatedly to a Muggle car magazine, ranting to Harry how _bloody _expensive those things were), flat and wide, all gleaming black discreet metal, curved tinted windows and enormous silver twin exhausts make its way to him, engine humming contentedly.

Harry had raised an eyebrow and shuffled away from the vehicle, afraid that Draco might not see him.

Unexpectedly and noiselessly, the first door of the car in front of him swung open in a smooth, fluid motion.

Harry stared.

"Get in, Potter. We're not going to celebrate your belated birthday with you standing in the cold like that."

Harry knew that silky drawl anywhere. Shock reverberated all the way down to his toes as the brunette hesitantly stepped over the threshold into the foreign automobile, closing the door carefully behind him as though it would fall off any second.

The air inside was cool and smelt of expensive, lustrous leather. Harry settled himself gingerly on the seat, nervously fiddling with his hands. His inquisitive eyes explored the inside of the car, taking in the gleaming, polished veneer of the windows and the luxurious, thick rug beneath his shoes. This whole set-up breathed of luxury and decadence, and he knew that Draco had done it on purpose to show off his immense wealth and affluence.

Not that Harry was complaining, of course.

"Bloody hell, Apparation not good enough for you now?" the stunned brunette remarked, his eyes giving the windows one last sweep before turning his gaze onto Draco. His breath caught in his throat and he felt the temperature in his cheeks soar, and great foaming waves of lust fizzed promisingly like Firewhiskey in his veins.

A burgeoning brief-case chock-full of papers was placed importantly on a small, foldable table in the car, and Draco's quill was lying placidly beside a closed ink-well. As usual, every strand of Draco's blond hair was immaculately styled to perfection. The ubiquitous dragon earring was perched alertly on his earlobe, its searing, red-hot gaze piercing Harry hungrily. Draco was dressed in a simple black collared shirt with sleeves folded up to his elbows, and a bright-red tie was knotted loosely around his collar. His fingers were serenely stroking a half-full champagne glass, and Harry saw the Malfoy ring twinkling surreptitiously up at him. His pants were black too, and as always, designer, expensive and tailor-made to hug every curve and contour of Draco's legs.

With a simple flick of Draco's wand, the champagne bottle tipped itself over, pouring a generous amount of alcohol into a glass which subsequently rose up in the air, floated lazily towards Harry and hovered in front of the brunette.

Draco Malfoy reeked of prosperity and opulence, and Harry felt inadequate, dressed simply in a shirt and jeans, sitting beside Draco drinking_ his_ champagne, in _his_ car, and going to a destination that only _he_ knew.

The ex-Slytherin shrugged carelessly. "There's no sense of style in Apparating."

Sipping on his drink, Harry cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to hide his aching erection. He hadn't seen Draco in two weeks, and just looking at the man was enough to make his furiously-palpitating blood go straight to his cock.

"So, where are we going?"

Draco tilted his head, smirking secretively to himself before replying triumphantly. He had chosen this particular location because it was a rather romantic place to go, and because he wasn't so prominent in that country, so Harry and he could enjoy their time together in peace, and not scurry around like a pair of criminals.

"Paris."

It was a lucky thing that Harry had swallowed his beverage down whole, if not he was sure that he would have spewed his mouthful of champagne out like a bloody unglamorous sprinkler.

"P-Paris? For what?" Harry had stammered weakly, not believing his ears at all.

"To celebrate your birthday. You couldn't have thought that I'd have forgotten that, could you?"

"No, of course not!" Harry lied, refusing to meet Draco's gouging gaze. "But… but what are we going to do there? You do know that I would've been fine with just a dinner somewhere!" Harry protested feebly, but deep down, he was actually quite pleasantly surprised.

_It was almost… like a… **date**._

Draco had swiftly deposited both of their champagne glasses on the table and was now sliding predatorily towards _just come here, let me whisper in your ear-_ Harry.

"I've instructed the chauffeur to drive us around for one hour before leaving for the private Portkey to Paris." _planting soft, delicate kisses on the tips of his fingers, his gentle, lilting voice enveloping Harry like how a prince would promise his newly-wedded bride the possession of untold riches, sparkling jewels and never-ending beauty-_

"I'll bring you to the most famous pâtisseries in Paris, where the best confectioners make the most wonderful macarons in the world, where the pastry is nothing but intoxicating lightness and the filling is intensely sweet, resplendent in shades of lemon, orange, and lilac."_ brushing lips the exact color of rosebud-pink across his cheeks-_

"Next I'll take you to the most beautiful gardens in the country, where the flowers are in full bloom all year-round, where the butterflies investigate the lush delights of each petal." _sliding those hypnotizing, skilful hands up and down his panting chest-_

"Lastly, we'll retire to a hotel, where we'll do nothing but make love through the night. How does that sound to you, Harry?" _tongue making love to his name, breath hovering dangerously close to his neck-_

Harry wondered how Draco had the presence of mind to outline their bloody itinerary when Harry himself could hardly string two syllables together.

His blood was pounding in his ears by now, lust gripping him like a pincer, refusing to let him go. Every one of his nerves was zinging, alive with the possibility of spending the whole _fucking_ night with his lover in bed. Harry's mind was working on over-drive as obscene scenes of nothing but sex flitted as fast as lightning through his mind.

Two months ago, the both of them had booked into Draco's hotel. They couldn't keep their hands off each other in the lift, their eager fingers already unbuttoning, unzipping and undoing everything in sight. By the time they fumbled and tripped their way through the hallway to the door of their hotel room, their lips were swollen and rosy and Harry had his hand wrapped around the blond's naked erection.

Draco had grappled hopelessly for his wand to open the door, but the spell to unlock it was lost in the sex-saturated swirl of his brain. Harry had batted Draco's wand roughly away, urgently dropping his own jeans and underwear in the hallway.

_"Now, here, Draco, please, god you look so fucking good-"_

_"Anyone can see us!"_

_"It's one in the morning, fuck, please, please, look at me-"_

_"Oh, yes-"_

They were like a pair of horny, desperate teenage exhibitionists having hot, raunchy sex in public. Both of their faces mirrored looks of unequivocal desire, and Harry had to bite back a shout of pleasure when Draco shoved Harry unceremoniously up against the wall and slid full hilt into him. One pale elbow was pressed hard against the luxurious, thickly carpeted wall, supporting Draco, while the other hand had snaked down between Harry's parted thighs, stroking Harry until he felt everything else melt away into nothingness. Furthermore, the added risk of being discovered by anyone only served to turn them on even more, pushing their sensuality to intense heights. Harry could hear the blond panting like an animal behind him, matching his thrusts with each moan, and Harry cried out Draco's name.

Suddenly, the door-knob of the room opposite from theirs turned, emitting a loud creak while the door opened a mere slit.

Both men froze like deer in headlights.

Muffled voices could be heard from the other room, and then a strangled sigh before the door safely clicked closed again.

_"We have to go in, Harry, they m-might come out any s-second-"_

_"G-going to come, and I k-know you are t-too-"_

_"At least let me open the d-door first-"_

_"H-Hurry, p-please, I'm so c-close-"_

Harry forced a gasp down his throat while Draco continued to thrash wildly in him, and he felt his body give a violent jerk when he finally came into the other man's palm.

_"Come in me now, Draco, I can hear their footsteps-"_

_"G-God, you're so f-fucking-"_

_"So good-"_

_"Fuck, yes!"_

They had only managed to yank the door open and tumble clumsily into their hotel room, slamming the heavy door behind them in the nick of time as the occupants of the other room exited.

Harry was still eagerly waiting for a repeat performance.

And this was the incident that Harry thought of in the limousine, his cock all fired-up and ready, expected Draco to undo his jeans and slip a hand inside. However, Draco didn't do that at all. He kept his hands above Harry's hips, choosing instead to slide his long, sinuous arms around the brunette's waist, encircling Harry in his soft, tender grasp.

Harry blinked unexpectedly and squirmed in the blond's lap, his own hand hovering uncertainly _every second wasted was an orgasm lost-_ above Draco's crotch. Draco pulled Harry down, his hands sliding up to cradle Harry's face lovingly. Draco's lips, a rich, strawberry-pink, descended onto Harry's, and long, vulnerable kisses unfurled after another, worming deeper and deeper into Harry's heart, this forbidden place, this foreign territory that he fiercely protected, ensuring that it belonged only to Ginny. A heat, as sweet and thick as honey, began to spread inexorably through his body, warming every vessel of his heart. Harry felt his troubles melt like lemon drops as Draco flicked his tongue gently against his own. This glow, this bloom that Draco was imparting while he kissed Harry, seemed to whisper numerous secrets, dropping a thousand hints, causing a subtle shift in their relationship, but Harry was scared, he was afraid that-

_Nothing but primal, animalistic, familiar sex, I can't fall in **love** with him-_

Ruthlessly tearing himself away from Draco's grasp, Harry ran a trembling finger over his own flushed, rosy lips. He had tried to ignore the fleeting flash of hurt that registered on Draco's features, tried to ignore the way a small voice had screamed at him admonishingly when he pulled away. Swallowing apprehensively, he felt the blood storming in his cheeks, and the silence that ensued was alive with intensity. Something delicate was hanging in the balance, something that vowed to change the drift of their affair, Harry knew the next thing that he uttered from his lips would make or break-

"Guess you must be too tired for sex, huh?" the brunette had croaked out, a touch of scorn apparent in his tone.

It was as though a set of metal bars had clamped themselves across Draco's eyes. A soft, mirthless laugh issued from the blond. Closing his eyes for a split second and shaking his head as if he had to rid his mind of something, Draco had reached a limp hand out to undo Harry's jeans.

* * *

Jolting back to the present, Harry's mind was full of fragments of chaotic information and memories that were rapidly reaching fever-pitch. This was all that he needed, this time alone with his thoughts, a quiet moment to evaluate the possibilities, the situations, the tell-tale tip-offs that Draco had been trying to tell Harry inexplicitly. He felt like he was bludgeoned over the head with a sharp axe.

Looking down at his hands, he realized that he had unwittingly drained his coffee.

_"Guess you must be too tired for sex, huh?"_

His insides writhed with shame, and he promptly began to whack himself over the head with the empty coffee cup. He felt like he was a marathon runner that had finished the race hours after the stipulated time. He was blinded by this complicated network of drain pipes that had been spewing out nothing but lust and sex, clouding his vision, because when you untangled the labyrinth, only one fact prevailed.

Draco Malfoy was In Love with him.

_God, what a fool._ He should have seen it; the writing must have been graffitied on the walls in letters ten feet tall. His true feelings for Draco, that had been buried and latent, had hidden under lock-and-key in his heart, but when push came to shove, it emerged like a shining sea creature from the murky, disaster-ridden ocean.

_Harry James Potter, do you love Draco Malfoy?_ He asked himself sternly and stopped abusing himself with the cup (The Muggles were beginning to stare now).

His heart replied with a resounding, joyous _YES_. He was precipitously, completely in love with a man that he hardly knew. _What's Draco's favorite color? What's his favorite food? What's his daily schedule like?_

But Harry didn't care about such banal questions like that; it was as though a celestial being had deigned to descend from the heavens, divulging some sort of divine knowledge that put Harry's life back into focus. And Harry began to laugh, a clear, tinkling laugh ringing with pure happiness that spilt forth from his mouth. He got up from the bench and began to do a silly little jig, acting like he had discovered the panacea to world poverty. Amidst the messy pieces of the puzzle that lay in his mind, it was like a glorious light had lasered itself through his marriage, illuminating the gaping cracks. One single, profound revelation was written in his mind like someone had taken a quill and scrawled it in huge, capital letters:

He could live with Ginny's affection, but he _couldn't live without Draco's love_.

"Flowers for you, sir?"

Harry blinked at the young girl with long, blonde hair, selling flowers in her out-stretched arm. Two flowers were clasped in her small hand, their long stems protruding from her palm. One flower was a common bright-red rose in full, vibrant bloom. It was dainty and delicately curled, the soft, folded spiraling patterns of the rose intricately created. Drops of moisture had landed on its brilliant petals, like it was _crying_. It had sharp thorns dotted haphazardly on its stem, but its leaves, the shade of fresh green apples, were thin and lush.

_"Shhh, your dad's sleeping his headache off-"_

The other flower, however, was a plant that Harry had never seen before. It was a white flower with its petals shut resolutely, but Harry could detect faint traces of silver-grey surrounding the petals. It was obviously not in full bloom yet. The stem was elegant, willowy and free of thorns, its leaves thick and leathery. It was elegant yet fragile, Harry thought as he stroked the floury petals that threatened to tear. Peeling a single petal back gently, Harry gasped; shocked to see the blazing and unexpected color of fiery orange, concealed right in the core of the flower, leap out at him.

_"Paris, to celebrate your birthday-"_

Smiling genially at the girl, he pulled his wallet out and paid her with Muggle money.

His hand hovered equidistant between both flowers, and a split second of hesitation and indecisiveness danced in his eyes. Letting air out through his teeth, Harry screwed his eyes shut and snapped them open; his choice steadfast and unwavering.

He picked the silver flower.

* * *

Turning his head from side to side, Harry gritted his teeth determinedly and began to make his way through the Malfoy Manor. His brow was furrowed in worry and wonder at the vastness of this place. The only room he knew about was the master bedroom. But he did remember Draco mentioning something about a study where he worked… Squaring his shoulders, he started to wander aimlessly, mentally rehearsing the things that he was going to say to Draco when he saw him.

Green, alert eyes darted everywhere as Harry increased his speed, ambling faster through long, wide corridors. Suddenly, he screeched to a halt when he saw a familiar, frazzled figure in the distance emerge from a room, his shoulders hunched.

"Draco!" Harry cried out, adrenaline swooshing through his veins. The blond looked up, before back-tracking in horror and fleeing back to his study, slamming the door behind him. But that was more than enough for Harry; he was like an ex-smoker that had caught a waft of delicious just-lit cigarette smoke. Harry quickly sprinted towards Draco. Hissing angrily when he found out that the door was locked, the brunette whipped his wand out and muttered a spell.

Stilling his hammering heart, he took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold. His eyes hungrily feasted on the creamy, strong back of the blond and the august but messy tendrils of alabaster hair_ that he had missed so fucking much- _curling on the nape of his neck.

"Draco, please, listen to me, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Get out!" The blond snapped his head around furiously, his hackles raised and his eyes cocked in combat. Harry did a double take when he took in Draco's haggard appearance. His infuriated eyes were now an outraged streak of grey, sunken in violet-circled sockets. He had a few extra lines fretted around his under-slept, shadowed eyes. His fists were clenched in pure wrath, the muscles under his skin trembling with emotion.

_what do you do, what do you do when everything is broken-_

"Draco, let me finish-"

"Get the _fuck_ out!" Draco's dark grey glare was like a drill that bore right into Harry, seeing through his useless, empty brain.

Harry was nothing but a bag of nerves, reeling back in dread and panic, knees trembling like whippets. _No, this isn't how it's supposed to be- _He retreated until he felt his back touch the door, and his hands immediately flew to the gilded handle. His conscience promptly picked up a megaphone and began screaming at him.

_He's always played second fiddle to your family, and now, when you've decided to happily change your mind, you expect him to welcome you with open arms? You've toyed with him like a fucking puppet, like a fucking Muggle jack-in-the-box, pressing his buttons mercilessly, making him pander to your every whim and fancy. You cut him where his heart used to beat; you stretched him to breaking point time and time again, you took him to the limit, played with him, used him for a year, a whole-fucking-year._

_You want to make amends now? It's too fucking late._

_He gave you his all, and in turn, you gave him nothing._

It was like he had walked into a concrete, solid brick wall that he couldn't smash however hard he tried. His initial excitement and affection was leaking rapidly like air from a pierced balloon. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach, like water spiraling down a plughole.

_It's over, Harry._

**

Draco heard the door creak open and the soft click of it closing.

So this was it, the grand finale of a pathetic, sordid, year-long affair. Harry had slinked back with his tail between his legs, but had left at the drop of a hat. Draco sighed, a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his tortured soul.

_Sorry to be so inconvenient, but I love you, and I always will._

He had been waiting on tenterhooks for this day to come. He had put everything on the line for this to start. He had broken up his family, risked his career for this flimsy, insubstantial _relationship_, hoping that maybe one day Harry would open his eyes and realize that he too, loved Draco as much as the blond did, this gnawing, debilitating, compulsive love that swallowed him whole, coloring every single thing that he did in his life.

_i'll be wishing, wanting, yours for the taking-_

But it was just a joke, wasn't it, something to laugh at and poke fun at over the dinner table when Harry returned to the whole Weasley clan. He always knew that Weasley would take Harry back.

She would be foolish not to.

While for Draco, he had come clean with Astoria, telling her that he couldn't keep up this farce any longer. He expected his wonderfully precocious son to leave with his wife, but surprisingly, he didn't. Instead, he stayed with his father through thick and thin, acting as Draco's emotional rock.

_i'll wait here every day, in case you scratch the surface-_

But sometimes, he would see Scorpius sitting outside in the garden, staring forlornly at the flowers that Astoria loved to grow, and sometimes, he would notice Scorpius's eyes flick swiftly over to Astoria's empty seat at the dinner table. Whenever his parents celebrated Scorpius's birthday together, Draco didn't miss the small swell of lingering hope that zipped as fast as quicksilver across his son's eyes.

It was times like these, these small glances that spoke volumes, that made Draco feel a failure as a father.

And that was why, Draco recalled as he lifted a hand to his forehead, stretching it across and began to rub his temples wearily, he would wipe his mind like a blank sheet with work, strengthening his empire while his heart curled up and died elsewhere.

_"Shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up!"_

It helped him to exorcise the pain, pain that Draco desperately wished was as fleeting as dipping a finger into hot wax, not _this _sort of pain, pain that flowed slowly and tremulously from an infected, oozing wound. His heart lay ripped in emotional tatters around his feet. It was as though Harry had given him the kiss of life for a short, blissful year, before tossing him remorselessly back into the whirlpool.

And now, now what was he to do?

He would have to pick up the pieces of his shattered life, put on a stiff upper lip, and go out to meet the world, immersing himself completely and painstakingly into his son and his work while nursing his broken heart, that was collapsing at the seams, back to health.

_Because if I can't have you, I won't have anyone else._

**

_He thought I'd left,_ Harry thought with a shock. Actually, he had just turned to close the door behind him. He looked at Draco's heaving shoulders, crushed despondently in defeat _the fall of a monarch-_ for his seemingly invincibility, the way his head was buried morosely _alive but barely breathing-_ in his shaking hands.

_He really loves me._

Harry wasn't going down i_'ll keep tossing rocks at your window-_ without a fight. Steeling himself for the yells and screams that he knew Draco would throw his way, he cautiously approached the blond like how one would approach a furiously pacing caged animal, slowly, like how one would place the final card at the very peak of a fragile house of cards, stealthily like how one would catch a butterfly.

He was standing directly behind Draco now, and Harry quickly wiped his clammy palms on his jeans.

"I love you." Harry's voice had gone all jerky and brittle, but he didn't care. He needed to say those three precious words that he knew Draco had been waiting to hear from him for more than a year.

"I love you, Draco. Please believe me, I'm sorry for hurting you, please…"

"I thought I told you to get out! I don't need your _fucking pity_, Potter, I don't need your fucking _apologies_, your fucking rejection _again_! Get the_ fuck_ away from me, don't you_ dare_ touch me, let _go_!" _eyes seething demonically-_

_three two one fall into my arms now-_

But Harry was clinging onto Draco like a leech, his arms wrapped around a flailing and thrashing Draco, a towering juggernaut of rage, Harry's muscles straining valiantly to keep Draco in his embrace. His mouth was whispering endless admissions, swearing _like verbal diarrhea-_ to make amends, murmurs of professions of love as he felt the teetering, precarious pagoda of deception that Harry had fabricated crash around him. He remembered how easily lies as light as soufflé had tripped out from his tongue, and he felt his heart soar at how he would never need to lie again because he was with _Draco_, belonging _heartbodysoulmind_ to him.

_sorry, sorry, please forgive me, I was a fool, nothing but a fool, let's try to take it back before it all went wrong, I love you, please stop crying, Draco, you don't know how much you're hurting me, please I love you I love you, just come back to me, I'll make it all better, Draco, let me mend you, let's move on, stop crying shhhhh-_

You can't put a lid on something like that, not if it's still alive, still burning, because there's only going to be an eruption when it comes off.

_The rest would simply bottle their feelings up, waiting for the eventual day when everything will explode in their faces like a volcano._

And that was what happening to Draco, as he raked his hands savagely up and down Harry's biceps, sinking his nails violently into the brunette. _I deserve it, every scar-_ Harry thought, gritting his teeth in pain. Draco was banging his fists hysterically against Harry's chest now, wailing, bawling, screeching uncontrollably while he buried his head into the crook between the other man's head and shoulder, eyes screwed shut in agony.

Gradually, Draco's sobs _tears etched with silver evasion-_ subsided, his body sagging with the weariness of his tears and tantrums and he sank, boneless, in Harry's arms. Draco blinked, as though he had just stepped out of a dream. He suddenly blushed hot, went cold and felt shaky and oddly light. Draco pressed his body closer against Harry's, his stormy grey eyes locked with Harry's wounded puppy eyes that were desolate and awash with remorse. Gently, Harry wiped Draco's face _nothing but vanilla, the only thing I want to smell for the rest of my life-_ that was stained with tear-tracks with his thumb. Dipping his lips down to the blond's, he kissed him tentatively at the corner of his mouth, his lashes like tiny tentacles trembling against Draco's pale cheek.

And at that rapturous moment, Harry felt that same heat, that heat that he had been trying to deny that it ever happened that day in the limousine begin to radiate from his heart down to the very tips of his toes, but this time, there were no secrets sequestered behind the kiss. He felt like he had been stumbling for weeks through a parched desert, and now, suddenly, he was at the entrance to a vast Butterbeer factory.

Draco's lips remained resolutely glued shut, but when Harry lovingly laced their fingers together, the blond hesitantly began to kiss back _hold me closer I'm falling faster tell me this could last forever_-, causing Harry's heart to perform a somersault. But he felt Draco's body tense to iron hardness as Draco pulled away warily and said in a muffled, hiccupy voice.

"Did you, did you really mean what you said?"

"I'll stay with you for the rest of my life. Give me this one last chance. Please, just let me show you how _much_ I love you."

And when Harry saw the last shard of ice in Draco's eyes melt away, and a true, genuine smile as rare as gold dust form on those perfect lips, he knew that he had finally, _finally,_ unwrapped his Christmas present.

* * *

His father didn't come home for the past two nights.

Albus thought his parents could kiss and make up, even though they had been tiptoeing carefully around each other for the past four days. But now, as the scales fell from his eyes and his sky-high hopes began to crumble to a pit of despair, it gradually dawned on him that Harry had left, leaving a wife with no husband, and three children without a father, abandoning his family like how one would throw away an old shoe. Albus felt jealousy and shame, both new sensations, gnawing at him like acid.

His mother was demented with grief; the sparkle in her eyes that he had always taken for granted had vanished, her beautiful, luscious red hair was now droopy and depressed, as though she couldn't be bothered anymore. The whole family knew now, even his extended family. They were enraged, all up in arms, rallying defensively around Ginny, gathering ammunition to hurl at Harry when he came back.

_If_ he came back.

Right now, Aunt Hermione was talking quietly to his mom, Grandma Weasley in the kitchen, and Uncle Ron was in the living room, having just flown with Lily. But _he_ was the one that discovered both men in bed together. Whenever he closed his eyes, those images would come zooming back, and each moan, each whisper was like an icy slap to his face.

The summer holidays didn't feel complete without Harry playing Quidditch with them.

Suddenly, Albus froze in his room. He heard incensed shouts, new bouts of sobbing, livid yells and most importantly, his father's baritone voice. Lifting his head up from his hands, he quickly ran to the living room and hid behind a corner.

_"Malfoy?! With Malfoy?! That ferret-faced git?!"_

_"Don't call him that, Ron!"_

_"Oh, what have you done to our poor Ginny, disgraced our whole family, leaving her for that-"_

_"I'm sorry, Mrs Weasley."_

_"For a year you've lied to me! How do you feel, Harry, how do you think I feel?! Shirking your responsibilities as a father and as a husband-"_

_"I'm done pretending that we're alright, Ginny."_

_"Harry, please think this through-"_

_"Hermione, I love him. I came back just to tell you all that."_

_"DADDY!"_

_"Lily, I love you…"_

Albus burst into tears, his fingers gripping the door so hard that his knuckles were white. A jagged pain, as though someone had stuck a dagger in his gut, shot remorselessly through his body. His face was completely drained; only the color of his freckles remained visible. He knew what was going to happen next. His father would never return, and this house, which was once full of laughter and joy, would be permeated with misery and anger.

_bang bang-_

But he knew deep down he still loved his father, regardless of the atrocities that he had done. He had always been closer to Harry than Ginny, and he couldn't imagine life without Harry. _Please don't go, Dad_- Before he knew what he was doing, he had scrambled out of his corner, lunging at his father desperately.

"Albus! Albus, get your hands off him right _now_!"

**

The air was heavy, damp and unmistakably foreign. Albus coughed and blinked, and two figures swam into focus. Scorpius and Draco Malfoy were standing regally in front of both Potters, like some macabre _my father's male lover, and his son-_ welcoming party.

Scorpius did look similar to his father, but on closer inspection, there were a few differences. His hair wasn't as platinum-white, but a darker shade of _like spun gold-_ blond. His eyes were grey too, but rimmed with sapphire-blue. But what they both definitely shared was height; the younger Malfoy was much taller and more intimidating than Albus. Both boys eyed each other like a pair of prize fighters, sizing the other up.

Resentment was emanating from every one of his stiff muscles, and Albus suddenly felt the woolly feeling of detestation and disgust rise up in him, hating what the two Malfoys stood for.

_Nothing but Slytherins and home-wreakers._

Charging towards Draco, he let out an anguished yell and kicked the older man hard in the shin. As fast as a heartbeat, Scorpius had swept swiftly in front of him, executing a flying wallop at his cheek.

"How _dare_ you hit my father, you good-for-nothing fool!"

Scorpius's blond hair glowed ominously like white fire around his head, his strong fists balled up in fury. Albus staggered back at the force of the punch, his intense green eyes blazing through his curtain of dark fringe. But he relentlessly started forward, anger hot on his lips.

"You two are _nothing_ but Slytherins, and my brother says that _all_ Slytherins are slimy, evil little gits!" Albus yelled, his lips twisted into a horrid sneer. He looked up at Draco, who had an eyebrow raised in mild amusement. Scorpius was just about to aim another swing at the other boy when Draco murmured _authoritative and over-loaded-_ his son's name quietly.

It was as though a thunderbolt had struck Scorpius. He glanced up at his father, before hesitantly retreating. His eyes were still burning with ferocity, touches of agitated pink in Scorpius's pale cheeks as both boys glared venomously at each other, their eyes nothing but murderous slits. Abruptly, Albus felt Harry grab him by the wrist and yank him roughly up the winding staircase of the manor.

"That's _enough_, Albus."

* * *

Yesterday after the showdown with Scorpius, Harry didn't scold him, but instead he had brought his son to his favorite shops and places (they steered clear of Uncle George's joke shop), bought him candy and ice-cream and everything that a thirteen-year-old would want.

When they returned to the manor, both Potters kept their distance from the Malfoys, but the Gryffindor didn't miss the small smile that his father flashed at Draco. Albus had planned to sulk to no end; trying to show Harry how miserable he was about his broken family. He had cried, screamed, yelled and accused, but it didn't work, his father had made his choice and was sticking to it. Albus was sick and tired of tantrums and tears, so he just lay, his energy spent, cocooned in his father's comforting embrace for a long time.

_"Daddy will you stop loving me?"_

_"Never."_

_"This place is scary. It's so big and cold-"_

_"It does take some getting used to, doesn't it?"_

_"Do you love me or Mr. Malfoy more?"_

_"It's two different kinds of love, Albus."_

_"Why are you here, Albus? Are you staying with me?"_

_"I… I miss you. I know Mr. Malfoy wouldn't want me around-"_

_"Nonsense. You know you're welcome here anytime, but you have to show them some respect. You can't go around calling them slimy gits, dear."_

_"But I- I didn't mean to-"_

_"I love you Dad."_

_"I love you too."_

Harry had kept his son company through the night, climbing into bed with him, patting him to sleep in that way that Harry used to do when Albus was younger. Albus knew that this was Harry's way of apologizing, and when he curled up contentedly beside his father, the younger boy gracefully accepted the apology.

Early next morning, Harry had brought him round the manor, assimilating and familiarizing Albus with the different rooms and facilities of the place. They did catch glimpses of Draco and Scorpius, but Albus remembered Harry's words and tactfully kept quiet. But sadly, Harry had to report to work after breakfast, and Albus knew that Draco had stopped working from home and also had to leave the house.

Which left him alone with Scorpius for the whole day.

The vast library that the Malfoys had kept Albus busy for the most of the day, but Albus was getting bored and restless. The only thing that he wanted to do right now was fly, but he had left his broomstick at home.

_At home…_ Albus's heart dropped like a stone when he thought of his mother and his siblings. He was convinced he was a traitor, abandoning his family and staying here with his father. Looking down at his shoes sadly, he suddenly felt very lonesome. He had been surrounded by people ever since he was young; there was never a time when he was far from a doting uncle or a fun cousin. He was desperate for someone, _anyone_ to talk to him, to stop him from dying of loneliness.

As if on cue, Albus felt someone step into his peripheral vision. Lifting his head up quizzically, he stared warily at Scorpius.

The blond smiled tersely, his head tilted to one side as he studied the other boy. Albus's messy raven locks were gleaming like espresso beans in the sun, his intense green eyes cautiously scrutinizing Scorpius. A smattering of freckles, the color of chocolate powder, was dusted at the bridge of his nose.

"We never really did introduce ourselves properly. I'm Scorpius."

"I know." Albus scowled, but quickly schooled his features into a small smile. "I'm Albus."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow at that flash of hostility, but said nothing. Both boys sat there quietly for a while, grateful for the other's company. But Albus couldn't hold it any longer, and he unthinkingly blurted out, "Do you hate my dad?"

"No." The answer was swift and sure, as though Scorpius expected the question. Albus waited for the reason, but it seemed like the Slytherin was hesitant. Nevertheless, Albus plowed on stubbornly.

"Why?"

Scorpius paused, piercing the other boy with his gaze. "I did, initially, when Father told Mother and me, but I knew he wasn't going to change his mind. I stayed with Father because I was closer to him than Mother, although I really do miss her sometimes… He's family, he's my dad. And I want to see him happy."

"Hang on. You're saying that… you're okay with your father falling in love with a _man_?!"

But Albus knew that he had asked beyond his allocated quota of questions when he saw Scorpius frown and look away, his thin lips pursed in disapproval. The brunette quickly stared in front of him, wringing his hands anxiously and muttering an apology. The silence extended uncomfortably, and it felt like the air had grown a bit chilly. Albus heard Scorpius give a small sigh before dusting himself off and standing up.

_See what you've done, Albus? You've scared him off with your stupid questions._ He thought miserably, hugging his knees to his chest defensively.

"Come on. I've got something to show you," Scorpius announced and briskly marched off without waiting for Albus's reaction. Eyes wide with curiosity, the Gryffindor stumbled to his feet and followed, having to jog a bit to catch up with Scorpius's long speedy strides. They threaded and wove their way in dizzying circles through the manor until the blond stopped suddenly. Albus squinted; this place seemed much brighter and warmer than the rest of the house. Looking at the other boy, Scorpius flung open a newly-varnished door and stepped out.

"Wow!" Albus burst out in complete surprise. The sky was a deep sailor-blue, dotted with fluffy cotton-wool clouds, the sinking sun a slim nugget of burnished gold. The trees were lush and lyrical in the receding sunshine, and a crisp, enticing lawn _a little slice of heaven-_ stretched in front of them. Gulls whirled and cried over-head in the sky as the brunette sped off to the middle of the lawn, jerking his head up ecstatically, relishing in the warmth of the summer.

Grinning joyously, Albus kicked off his shoes carelessly and collapsed on the fresh green grass, its emerald blades glistening like jewels under the sun's caress. The boy waggled his limbs in childish excitement, as though making imaginary snow angels, his arms and legs splayed out like starfish.

"Are you having a _fit_ or something?!" Scorpius yelped in horror, looking furtively around them.

Albus sat up indignantly. "You mean you haven't done this before? It's loads of fun, come on, try it!" With that, the Gryffindor stubbornly yanked a terrified Scorpius towards him. The blond glared at Albus, but composedly and meticulously laid himself down on the ground. His white teeth flashed in the sunshine as he cracked a small grin. The sun played on his closed eyelids, and it was a new, pleasant sensation. Opening an eye, Scorpius quickly sat up when he saw Albus studying him intently.

"You look nice when you smile. You should do it more often," Albus beamed secretively before bouncing off energetically. _He's like a sodding five-year-old_, Scorpius thought disdainfully to himself.

_A sodding five-year-old that makes me **smile**._ Suppressing an urge to smile _again_, he quickly stood up and followed Albus.

The Gryffindor froze when he saw an explosion of color in the near distance. He began to sprint towards what seemed to look like a garden. His senses were assaulted when he took in the various shades and sizes of numerous flowers and for a moment, their unique, fresh aromas dazzled him.

Albus stepped closer, his eyes wide with rapture. Bright yellow buttercups played host to the small bumble-bees flitting around, and roses the color of deep red and snow-white were dotted haphazardly between different species of flowers. All of the plants were in full bloom, ranging in colors of the rainbow, their scrumptious green leaves twinkling up at Albus. It was a small yet beautiful garden, and it was obvious that someone had gone to great pains to maintain it. Scorpius settled himself beside Albus, and the trees stretched their thick arched branches like a shady umbrella, shielding both boys from the last of the sun's rays.

"Who's your gardener?" Albus asked, his fingers teasing the floury petals of a lustrous sunflower.

Scorpius bristled, drawing himself up, his words as sharp and clear as cut-glass. "Not every rich family has a gardener, you know."

Albus blinked in surprise. He noticed the possessive way Scorpius's grey eyes stared at the sunflower in Albus's hand, and the familiarity that the blond had as he slid a calculating finger down a tulip's stem.

"You mean, _you're_ the one that did all this?!" Albus said in astonishment, his gaze febrile with interest. The Slytherin only gave a curt nod, his attention focused on a daisy that didn't seem to be growing well. Albus bit his lip and murmured an apology. Scorpius looked up and saw Albus's infectiously open and unpretentious countenance, the way his big green eyes swiveled everywhere, full of interest and amusement.

It was hard to stay mad at him.

"My mother… she loves growing flowers. When she left, I… took over the garden. It's like she's here with me, you know, even though she's left us. Whenever I miss her, I come here and it just… it just makes it all better. Her favorite was the sunflower," Scorpius explained quietly, his eyes diamond-bright as his finger unwittingly tracing Astoria's name in the soil.

Albus swept his gaze through the garden, and he saw that there were more sunflowers than the other flowers. "Well, I think your flowers are the most beautiful thing that I've ever seen," the brunette proclaimed grandly, his mouth stretched into a dazzling smile the width of a watermelon. The corners of Scorpius's mouth quirked up into a tiny grin. Hooking his gaze onto a sunflower with silver powder etched around its petals, the blond reached over and gently dislodged it from the soil. Whipping his wand out, he instructed Albus to spell his own name out very slowly and clearly. With each letter uttered from Albus's lips, Scorpius tapped his wand on the chocolate-brown core of the flower. The powder stirred languidly, before arranging itself gracefully to form Albus's name, each alphabet ingrained into each petal. When the process was complete, Scorpius, his cheeks tinged with a shade of rose-bud pink, shyly offered the flower to an astounded Albus.

"For you."

And as Albus happily accepted his gift, he thought to himself, that maybe it wasn't so bad to spend the summer holidays in the Malfoy Manor after all.

* * *

The wind was whipping up into a storm, howling through the cracks of the windows. The rain was beating a fast, loud tattoo on the glass. Albus whimpered and curled up into a ball in bed. A violent streak of lightning split the sky into half, and Albus yelped when an ear-splitting crack of thunder pierced him. Shivering in fear, the boy burrowed underneath the thick blankets, hoping to escape the fury of the storm.

Ever since young, Albus had hated thunderstorms with a passion.

When he was at home, he would crawl into his parents' bed, knowing that they would protect him from the storm. But now, his mother was no longer there, and he absolutely would not climb into bed with his father and Mr. Malfoy. Albus and Draco had maintained a cool distance simply because Albus was a bit scared of the older blond, and Draco chose not to strike up conversation with Albus.

He knew he couldn't get any sleep unless he was in bed with another person, so that left Scorpius. Albus sat up in bed hesitantly. He didn't want to expose any sort of weakness to the other boy, because Scorpius seemed so mature, both physically and emotionally, for his age. Albus was extremely impulsive and rash, blurting whatever came to his mind immediately. On the other hand, Scorpius liked to turn things over in his mind, choosing his words carefully before speaking. He feared that the blond would laugh at him if he knew that Albus was scared of _thunderstorms_.

Both boys did share interests, though. They liked the same music, the same ice-cream flavors, the same candy, and most importantly, they loved flying. Scorpius also taught him the intricacies of mixing Muggle gardening (complete with gardening gloves and trowels) and magic, and Albus had felt a surge of pride when he planted his first rose that changed its color according to the weather. They had spent loads of time together during the holidays, and Albus enjoyed the other boy's company immensely. One blissful day, when the weather was perfect for flying, Albus had gazed wistfully up to the sky.

_"Come on, Albus, let's go flying."_

_"I… I can't! My broom's at home."_

_"I'll lend you one, I've got loads."_

_"Bloody hell, where'd you get all those?! There's at least five Starfire 3000s, six Sunwhisper 2000s, and Merlin, is that… is that a Windbolt 6000?!"_

_"Yeah, my dad's got connections. His business associates know that I love to fly. Go on, pick one!"_

However, one thing that they didn't share was passion for the same Quidditch teams. Both boys preferred different teams, and they had spent most of the day arguing good-naturedly over which team was the better one.

Worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, Albus stealthily padded out of his room and crossed the hallway, passing a few rooms and finally stopping at the door of Scorpius's room. Tentatively, Albus twisted the gilded handle and stepped in, walking towards a slumbering Scorpius. Gently prodding the blond with his finger to make more room, Albus gingerly lowered himself to the bed. He inhaled the uncharacteristic earthy scent of Scorpius and immediately felt comforted.

The Slytherin yawned. It felt like someone had poked him, which was highly suspicious. Turning over, he cracked open an eye and saw a pair of fearful green eyes staring back at him. Scorpius jumped out of his skin and let out a surprised yowl.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! It's just that… I'm… scared of… thunderstorms…" Albus started, but trailed off morosely, lowering his head in shame. Scorpius sat up, rubbing the residues of sleep out of his eyes. He took in Albus's black chaotic swirls of hair and his timid eyes brimming with apprehension.

"Yeah sure, you can sleep with me. Just don't do _that _again," the blond warned, pulling the blankets around both of them. Albus beamed gratefully at him and promptly snuggled into Scorpius's chest, wrapping his small arms around the Slytherin's lanky waist. Scorpius froze for a second, but felt the tension melt slowly away. Furrowing his brow questioningly, he hesitantly slipped an arm around the other boy's back, patting a cowering Albus when a slash of lightning stabbed the room.

"Are you going to come back next holiday?" the blond asked casually and dismissively, but Albus knew how much his answer meant to Scorpius.

Albus nodded vigorously. "I'm going to come back to see the garden and my roses, and to see you!" His sentence escalated into a frightful cry when a heart-stopping crash of thunder roiled Albus. Scorpius smiled to himself, pulling the other boy closer to him. He stayed awake, keeping Albus company until the storm had calmed down.

And when the last fragment of lightning flashed, illuminating the scattering of freckles on Albus's face that Scorpius found so endearing, the Slytherin had to suppress a strong urge to trace and count the number of freckles that the brunette had.

* * *

The air was sweet, still and warm. They were taking their time, touching each other to no end, simply because they were no longer living on borrowed time. Both men were bathed in a delicious warm glow from the flickering flame of the candle beside the bed, love and firelight racing in their veins. Draco's every move was as assured and full of intent like a ballet dancer's, and Harry luxuriated in the always-sure touch of his warm tongue on his hyper-sensitive skin.

Reaching up, Harry slid a finger down Draco's dragon earring. Its body was coiled as tight as a spring, its soft-pink eyes gazing at Harry. Slowly, timidly, its tail snaked out and wrapped itself around Harry's thumb, and its flat, noble head dipped down to give Harry's fingernail a daring, tiny lick. Grinning joyously, Harry unclasped the earring and put it away.

"So beautiful," Draco whispered, his voice low and intimate, sending ripples of pleasure undulating through Harry's body. His hands were touching Harry's naked chest and abdomen, admiring the way Harry's brown limbs shone like a young god.

"All yours."

"All… mine?" The blond replied incredulously, his trembling voice like a young boy on Christmas morning.

"Every inch, every whisper, every _heartbeat_," Harry murmured tenderly, feeling his skin prickle with pleasurable delight when Draco pushed him gently down on the bed. All of the night's magic seemed to whisper and hush as Draco's expert fingers swiftly undid Harry's jeans, and the brunette felt like his body was a tool in a magician's arsenal, the way Draco's hands slid smoothly on him, eliciting gasps of bliss and cries of contentment.

Nothing could blanket this moment, this enchanting, peaceful night that dissolved into nothing but yielding moans, soft caresses and exquisite lingerings.

* * *

He was waiting for the sweet, wonderful world that he had lived in for the past few weeks to burst like a bubble. Tomorrow was the day that the children would be returning to Hogwarts, and it would be inevitable that Harry would meet his family, and then maybe, just maybe, this honeymoon would be over.

It didn't bear thinking about.

Draco sighed softly as he rubbed his eyes wearily. He was tired, but he knew he couldn't sleep, _wouldn't _sleep. A sliver of destructive doubt niggled away at him and he tried to push it away, but to no avail. The moon on the horizon was sending shimmery, milky ribbons of light down at both men, and Draco tentatively slid his fingers in between Harry's, smiling wistfully while he memorized the way Harry's thicker, calloused fingers fit wonderfully with his own.

_don't say that when the sun comes up I'll wake up and you won't be around-_

Suddenly, Harry yawned and turned over in bed, pulling away from Draco. A bronzed arm flung out to hug Draco, but Harry felt nothing but cool bedsheets. Sitting up questioningly, he yawned expansively again before his eyes groggily zoomed in on the still and silent figure of the blond in front of him.

The whites of Draco's eyes gleamed warily and he shrunk back, hunching his shoulders as cagey grey eyes looked down at long, pale fingers. Harry moved closer, forcing Draco to meet his gaze. And then, something electric and alive crackled in the eyes of both men, something that meant a lot to them, but very little to us. A thousand sweet nothings lay unspoken between Harry and Draco, and very gently, Harry tugged Draco down to bed, slipping him underneath the welcoming covers.

_i'm not going anywhere-_

The blond's body was warm, yet frail and vulnerable. Harry sat patiently beside the other man, his soothing touches coaxing Draco to sleep. The brunette marveled at the smooth curves of Draco's beautiful cheekbones while he tucked stray strands of bewitching alabaster hair behind Draco's ear. The ex-Slytherin's face was flushed with happiness, not that nervous, mottled flush, but a lovely pink glow. And at that split second, when Draco's eyes gave Harry a clinging look before hesitantly closing, Harry felt a sharp pang that made his heart stop for a moment and dance around like mad as he realized that this is different, this is _real_, this is _it._

The both of them had experienced every emotion in the spectrum _ragelovesexjoyjealousyfearsadness-_ and Harry knew that it wasn't something that could be taken for granted. Adjusting his position in bed, he crossed his legs and wrapped a hand comfortingly around Draco's wrist, waiting for the blond to go to sleep.

It was now Harry's turn to keep the twilight vigil.

_love you loads_

_love you thousands_

_love you millions_

_love you to the bottom of the sea_

_love you up to the-_

_stars of the-_

_sky._

* * *

**/fin **


End file.
